Pretending
by BobbleHeadJesus
Summary: It's easier to be someone else. To tell one lie that turns into another, which turns into another, which turns into something so messy it can never be undone. HPGW some HPFW, graphic lemony MM
1. Chapter 1

Part One

It was nearly three in the morning when George watched Harry and his brother stumble into the Gryffindor common room. He was sitting on a sofa chair in front of the fireplace; the fire had dwindled into nothingness an hour ago, but there was still warmth radiating from the ashes. It was dark, and none of the light of the windows fell on his face.

Fred had one arm around Harry's waist, the other holding a bottle of something. George guessed it was Fire Whiskey. Harry was laughing drunkenly and shoving at Fred; not enough to push him off, but enough that the redhead tipped precariously backwards before rocking forward on his feet.

He used the momentum to push Harry against the wall, and grinned lasciviously. The wall was illuminated with the light from the full moon outside, and it gave George a fairly clear view of the two. Fred said something, softly, into Harry's ear, and the boy laughed.

"You're a wanker," Harry whispered noisily and then snorted with laughter. Fred grinned again and brought his face close to Harry's, brushing his nose against the younger boy's cheek.

It must have tickled Harry, because he continued to laugh, more insistently now, writhing away from Fred's face and the hands resting lightly on his hips.

"You're pissed," Fred exclaimed, feigning shock.

"Fuck you!" Harry was laughing as he said it, his hands on Fred. But he wasn't pushing him away anymore, simply running his hands over the taller boy's chest and neck, up into his ginger hair.

George did nothing to make his presence known, but sat back further in his chair. It was the first time he'd caught his twin with a boy. He'd known, of course; how could he not? What Fred could hide from everyone else, even their mother, he could not hide from George.

And when Fred came back to the dorms after lights out, reeking of whiskey and a scent George associated with bed sheets and centerfolds, it hadn't been difficult to figure out what was going on. But he was curious just the same. Who was his brother seeing? What was so appealing about another boy?

Three months of Fred's bleary eyed mornings and late nights were all George could stand before he'd resolved to stake-out the common room to catch his brother. He'd brought a blanket and a book down at half past one, but hadn't bothered to read, simply watching the fire until it went out, and then the night sky out the nearest window.

He'd been guessing who it would be. He knew who it wasn't: any of the boys in their dorm. It probably wasn't a Ravenclaw or a Slytherin: Fred found the former dull and the latter disgusting, same as George. Hufflepuff was possible, but not entirely likely: they were better targets than playmates.

But, of all the blokes in Hogwarts, Harry was the last George had figured to be queer. And yet, there he was, one of Fred's legs between his, moving slowly.

It did not make George entirely sick to watch his brother whisper dirty things against Harry's throat, making him laugh and breathe heavy and shy away from the tickling lips and breath.

"Stop, stop," Harry begged, still giggling.

"Oh! Alright, didn't realize you didn't like it." Fred's teeth were nearly blinding in the moonlight as he grinned and pulled his leg back.

"Don't be such a twat," Harry said with another giddy laugh, and his body seemed to move forward toward Fred. It took a moment for George to realize in the dark that he was bucking his hips toward Fred's. He swallowed and averted his eyes for a moment.

"Then don't be such a woman!" Fred's voice was mocking, and George recognized the tone as the one he used while dangling toys over their younger siblings' heads. It drew his eyes back to the two teens.

He could see Fred's hand move to Harry's side and begin tickling him lightly. Harry made a yelping noise before twisting his body to one side and laughing again, this time trying to hush himself.

"I don't understand why you're going on like this. Honestly, Harry, all I'm trying to do is kiss you and you just keep wriggling away." This made Harry laugh even harder.

"Then bloody quit it!" Harry was leaning fully against the wall, giggling and flushed.

"You don't like this?" Fred asked, tilting his face and tickling Harry again. The smaller boy simply laughed and shook his head. "What about this?" His hand moved lower, fingertips spread lightly across the denim of Harry's jeans.

George was nearly shocked at how abruptly their demeanor changed. Fred's voice was lower now, more intimate, in way that George only ever heard when his twin was upset. Harry stopped laughing wildly and was breathing heavily.

George could not see what was happening, but he heard a zip come undone, and he tried to crane his neck. Momentarily, he stopped, ashamed of his curiosity. He knew it was wrong to spy on Fred; they'd both wandered too far into each others' personal lives on occasion, and it usually ended in a row. But as he watched Harry's chin rise and his hands press flat against the wall, he told himself that Fred owed him the truth,

"I like that." Harry's voice was so soft that George could barely hear it.

"You're such a slag."

"You've not got twenty quid to give me," Harry said with a little giggle, and Fred laughed too.

"I've got no fucking clue what you just said." Fred was still laughing as he shifted to one side. When he moved, George got a clear view between the two.

Fred's hand was buried in Harry's pants, working slowly and rhythmically.

"I said that if you give me twenty Muggle notes I'll suck you." Harry's voice was lilting, slurred, and sounded extremely self-satisfied. George's ears went red and he felt something hot in his belly flip over.

"You did not," Fred laughed softly into Harry's ear, arm still moving his hand in Harry's trousers. Harry grinned and tittered when Fred's mouth kissed at his throat. "Anyway, I've not even got twenty Knuts," Fred admitted, and his teeth flashed in the moonlight as he bit Harry's skin, then licked it languidly and pressed his mouth to it.

"Then maybe I'll pay you to suck me," Harry said, and the hot thing in George's stomach moved lower.

"Baby, you can't afford me." Fred's voice was low and seductive, and it surprised George when Harry laughed.

"What, I can't afford the price of a cuppa tea?" Harry laughed, and then gasped. George jumped slightly and craned his neck to see.

Fred was sucking on Harry's ear, hand still moving steadily. It was silent in the room for a few seconds, but for Harry's heavy breaths, a soft wet noise, and the rustling of fabric.

"Is it my turn, or yours?" Harry's voice was breathless, and George could hear the shudder of his body in his words.

"If you have to ask then it's mine," Fred replied, and Harry made a dissatisfied noise. Then he arched his back when Fred tugged sharply at his ear.

"Kiss me." It was soft and pleading, and when it came from Harry's lips, the speed with which Fred moved made it obvious that he could not say no to the younger boy when he asked like that.

It was difficult for George to watch for a moment as the boys kissed. He wondered if it was like kissing a girl, for a moment. It was so intimate that he was a bit disgusted with himself for intruding. But when Harry's hand moved to the front of Fred's trousers and massaged his groin gently, George forgot everything else.

Harry broke the kiss and whispered, "I think it's my turn." Fred nodded quickly, but their faces were so close, so shadowed, that George could not see his expression.

"You're so fucking hot," Fred moaned softly and George watched as Harry, pleased, undid the zipper of his brother's pants and pulled his erection out. Fred mimicked the action on Harry, and at the sight of Harry's cock, George's mouth went dry.

He shifted uncomfortably when the two boys began rubbing their dicks together, an angry feeling welling up inside of him. Suddenly he wanted to stand up and yell at them for acting so foolishly in Gryffindor tower. Instead, he managed to stay seated and watch as Harry kissed Fred, their hands stroking in tandem.

"How do you want it?" Harry asked the older boy, pulling their mouths apart.

George gagged. It was disgusting, his brother acting like a fool, pressed against Harry and breathing hard, grinding his hips against the other teen.

"Do it against the wall." Fred's voice sounded ragged, like he'd been running. He was pressing Harry against the wall so fiercely that George couldn't even see Harry anymore. It almost looked like Fred was alone until he leaned his head forward and to one side, kissing the side of Harry's throat again.

Fred began kissing lower, unbuttoning Harry's shirt as he went. Harry was giggling again suddenly as the kisses dusted over his stomach. He looked down at the top of Fred's head.

Furiously, George shifted in the chair. Harry had no right to treat his twin like a slut. It was downright sickening, and he had a good mind to embarrass them all by announcing his presence and telling them to quit before he told the whole of Gryffindor.

And then Harry was looking at him. George's breath froze and he stiffened as he reminded himself that there was almost no way the boy could see him in the dim lighting. But Harry was frowning and knitting his brow, craning his face forward to peer into the dark.

"Hey, Fred, wait, I –" Harry started to say before gasping sharply and letting out a short bark of laughter. His head lolled backwards and his mouth fell open, eyes closing. Wondering what saved him from discovery, George's eyes moved down.

Fred's head was level with Harry's groin, his jaw open and working. His hands were on Harry's hips, holding him against the wall.

"You… just… don't wanna be on bottom," Harry panted, one of his hands moving to bury itself in Fred's hair.

George hated Harry.

There was a wet slurping noise and Fred stood up and was kissing Harry again.

"Just coz I let you put your cock in my mouth doesn't mean you can put your words in there too." Fred turned and leaned against the wall next to Harry.

"I'll put whatever I want in your mouth," Harry retorted, spinning and pinning the taller boy to the wall.

God, he hated Harry so fucking much.

"Big talk for a little boy," Fred replied with a snort.

Harry fell to his knees abruptly and moved toward Fred's crotch. Fred's breath stopped, and he could hear Harry moan as he bobbed his head slowly in front of Fred's hips.

"Give me your hand," Fred panted, and his hips thrust into Harry's mouth. Harry obediently lifted one hand, and Fred pulled his wand out of his pocket and tapped it against his palm.

There was a soft squelching noise and Harry's palm was suddenly shining and wet-looking in the moonlight. Harry brought his hand back down to his own groin and worked his hand a few times as Fred pulled his trousers down until they were around his thighs.

"Hurry up," Fred whispered and his words caught in his throat as Harry make a loud slurping noise and his cheeks sucked in tightly.

As livid and repulsed as he was, George could not shake off the curiosity, and he watched in rapt fascination as Harry pulled his hand back and moved it between Fred's legs. He could not see where Harry's hand had gone, but he saw Fred grit his teeth and fist Harry's hair in his hands. His legs spread wider apart, and he grunted softly.

George had to pull his attention back as Harry thrust his hand between his twin brother's legs, making the redhead exhale sharply and tilt his head back. It was getting a little too intense in the room, and there was something distinctly upsetting about watching his brother get fingered. George tried to think as loudly as he could, in an attempt to block out Fred's grunt of pleasure.

As the younger boy got back on his feet and turned Fred to face the wall, George was able to look back, his brother's face hidden from him. Harry was only barely visible as he kissed the back of Fred's neck, saying something so soft that George could only hear snippets of.

"…want it?..." Fred moaned so quietly that it almost sounded like a whine. "…for me… …Freckles… …want you…" As he was murmuring into Fred's ear, Harry pulled a footrest over and stood on it, elevating himself several inches so that their hips were level.

And George could see _it_, see it sliding inside of his brother, and he felt so horrible he thought he would be sick all over the floor.

Fuck Harry. That little prick didn't deserve any of them, not Ron, not Fred, not Ginny, not the Weasley family as a whole.

For several long, agonizing minutes, there was quiet in the room. The soft slap of skin, Harry's pants, Fred's heavy breathing and low grunts… it was all George had to not scream at them to stop.

His teeth clamped down on his tongue and he could taste the coppery heat of his own blood. He stared at the back of Harry's head, hating him.

Fred cried out, as if in pain, and George started to stand up, hand going for his wand. Immediately though, he stilled himself, embarrassed, as he realized that his brother's cry was turning into a soft pleased groan.

Harry inhaled sharply and his whole body went rigid. His exhalation was stuttered and slow, as if letting the air out of his lungs would end him.

The two boys collapsed on the wall, Harry clinging to Fred's back. They were both breathing harshly.

"I… think I'm falling in love with you," Fred whispered between pants.

Harry laughed breathily and buried his face in the nape of Fred's neck. Slowly Fred turned around and Harry loosened his arms to let him.

George decided in that second that if Harry did not say it back, he would knock the shit out of him. He'd get him alone and beat him until his skin was pulp.

"You're a nutter." Harry leaned in close to Fred and lay his head on the older boy's shoulder, closing his eyes. That was it: George was going to thrash him into next week.

"You're a drunkard," Fred retorted. He clearly did not feel the betrayal that George did.

"_Your_ drunkard," Harry corrected him.

"Mine," Fred agreed, lifting one hand to pet at Harry's head. "What shall I do with my alcoholic? Keep him under my bed? Lend him out to my brother? Make him do my homework?"

"Take him to bed with you." Harry rubbed his face against Fred's shirt.

"Mm," Fred agreed. "Ickle Ronniekins will miss you if I do that."

"Sod 'im."

"That's not very nice." Fred's tone was reprimanding, but he was smiling, eyes closed.

George wished he had a bucket of ice water to dump on them.

"You come to mine then."

"You know how George is."

No, George did NOT know how George is. But he was certainly interested in hearing what they had to say now.

"Sod George too," Harry snorted.

"You shagging all my brothers?" Fred asked, grinning above Harry's head.

"Only the ones with red hair," Harry replied, yawning.

Harry Potter could go fuck himself.

"Go on to your kip now." Fred gently kissed Harry's head and nudged him.

"Stay with me tonight." Harry was begging, in that small desperate voice again, and George's throat closed when Fred sighed wearily.

"You even gonna remember this in the morning?" he asked. "Is it gonna be like last time?"

"No!" Harry protested.

"Your mouth says no, but your liver says, yes, yes YES!" Fred declared, kissing Harry's forehead. "Go on."

"But –"

"Before I lose my willpower." George could hear the impatience in his twin's voice.

"Fred…"

Fred leaned forward and kissed Harry. George closed his eyes. He'd seen more than enough for one night. It was just gratuitous now. Having his eyes closed magnified the sounds in the room and he could hear Fred whisper.

"Let's meet tomorrow. In the room near the passage to Hogsmeade."

"What if I don't remember?" Harry demanded, his voice slurring, and Fred chuckled.

"Here, I'll write it on your hand."

There was soft shuffling, the sound of pants being zipped up, kissing, whispers of farewells, then more kisses, firmer farewells, even more kissing… George wanted to tell them to just bloody well get on with it. Gits.

When he opened his eyes finally, the room was empty. He got to his feet slowly, wincing and stretching. His legs were almost completely cramped up, one leg numb. He hobbled and limped around the common room for a few minutes until the tingling in his leg stopped and he was able to walk normally.

He crept up to Harry and Ron's dorm room, opening the door as quietly as he could and peeking inside. The boys were asleep; Neville was snoring loudly. Harry had already passed out, drooling on his pillow. George sneaked up to the side of Harry's bed and looked at the palm of his left hand, sprawled over the pillow.

_Our Room – 4:00_

George had no clue what they were talking about. He'd certainly never seen a door in the hallway; only the armored statue. Nevertheless, he pulled his wand out and tapped Harry's palm once.

Now it read:

_Our Room – 4:45_

He straightened and swiftly left the room, shutting the door behind him. Part of him wanted to march straight back into the room and start smacking the shit out of Harry right then and there… but then Fred and Ron would find out about it, and Harry wouldn't even be sober enough to understand why he was doing it.

When he got back to his dorm, Fred's toothbrush was dangling out of his mouth as he was unlacing and yanking off his shoes.

"What're you doing up?" he demanded, sitting up and looking reproachfully at George. "You're never out this late."

"What's it to you?" George retorted, yanking his shirt off over his head.

"I dunno." Fred shrugged. He looked a little nervous. "Just wanted to know what you got up to."

"Library."

"Ah. Not Hogsmeade then."

"No." George yanked a nightshirt on over his head and didn't look at Fred as he sat down to pull his shoes and socks off.

"Something wrong?" Fred asked, standing as he resumed brushing his teeth. George shook his head shortly and pulled his pants off.

"And you? Where you been?" George stood and pulled on his pajama pants.

"Town," Fred said shortly.

"With who?"

"Dunno. Mess of mates."

Turning to him, George glanced around the room meaningfully. "Our mates are all asleep."

Irritably, Fred shrugged. "I've got other friends."

"Who?"

"I dunno. Not really friends, I guess. Didn't know their names. Hufflepuffs or something." Fred tossed the toothbrush to one side and went to the window to spit out the extra toothpaste.

George heard him lie down and pull the covers over himself. He got into his own bed and stared at the ceiling for a minute.

Then, lowly, so he wouldn't wake up Lee, he said, "Y'know, you really ought to be more careful who you decide to trust." He looked at Fred.

Fred's eyes were closed and his mouth was hanging open gently, sound asleep.

George sighed and angrily looked back up at the ceiling.

Fuck Fred.

Fuck Harry.

Fuck the Hufflepuffs, and the Ravenclaws, and the Slytherins, and the Gryffindors, and fuck the whole school.

Frustrated and furious, George sat up and pulled the curtains on his four poster bed closed. He lay down, back toward Fred's side of the room and stared at the curtain. The night replayed in his mind.

He found that the more he thought about it, the more livid he became. And the more livid he became, the harder the blood pounded through his body. His fists shook and he wanted to scream, and his dick got hard, and his eyes burned.

At this rate, he'd never fall asleep. When it evolved into something that was just too enormous for him to handle, he took a deep breath and rolled onto his back.

His hand slipped into his pajama pants and he touched himself carelessly. Just a brief wank. Anything to relax. Getting this angry was just useless.

His hand wrapped around his cock and stroked it a few times, slowly unwinding his anger.

Come to think of it, he didn't really understand why he was so mad about the whole thing. Fred could make his own decisions; they were two separate people with very _obviously_ different prerogatives.

If Fred liked Harry… if he didn't mind getting treated like crap, then that was his business.

George held his breath and began jerking on his dick harder.

OR maybe his brother didn't know any better and he owed it to him to save him from Harry's touches, his soft pleading voice, his long spidery fingers and his cheeks flushed with liquor, his wet red lips, his panting breaths, his soft laughter, his overly invasive cock…

Closing his eyes and swallowing, George ejaculated onto his own stomach. He let the air out that he had been holding and tried to catch his breath quietly.

That was weird.

Grabbing his wand, he cleaned himself off, fighting off the panic that seemed to want to settle in his mind.

He was fairly certain he wouldn't be sleeping much tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Hope you guys are enjoying the story. If you're not, well, I'll try not to cry myself to sleep.

This part is gonna be more graphic than the last chapter, so consider yourselves very, very warned.

_______________________

Part Two

Harry stepped into the small room, quickly shutting the door behind him.

"You're not going to believe the dream I had last night," he began, tossing his books on the floor. "There was this huge mirror in the common room and our reflections came to life and were watching us do all these nasty things and…"

"You're nearly an hour late!"

He turned to see Fred sitting on the bed, homework spread out across the sheets.

"What're you talking about?" Harry demanded. "Five minutes at most, and only because Ron started asking about the potions lab we've got to make up."

"It's four fifty!"

"Exactly," Harry argued, holding his hand out. "See? Four forty-five. Five minutes."

"I didn't write that," Fred said with a frown. "I wrote four exactly."

"Maybe it smudged in my sleep," Harry said, looking at his palm.

"It doesn't matter." Fred dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "I've got to meet with a study group in the library at five, so I need to take off."

"I only just got here," Harry objected, putting his hands on the papers that Fred tried to gather up. "Come on…" He leaned in and kissed Fred's lips briefly.

"I'm failing Defense Against the Dark Arts, I can't!" Fred pulled the papers from under Harry's hands.

"I've been looking forward to seeing you since I found the note brushing my teeth this morning." Harry lifted his hands, and when Fred finished pulling the papers up and slipping them into a book, pressed himself forward, pushing Fred down onto the bed.

"Your dental hygiene is impressive," Fred told him, "but…"

Harry bent down and kissed him languidly.

Fred broke the kiss and sighed. "Look, let me go and get the notes from Suki Sebastian and I'll be back. Half hour, tops."

"I like that plan," Harry told him, sitting back.

"You better be naked by the time I get back," Fred warned him, standing up and grabbing his book. He bent over and kissed Harry once more before darting out the door.

When Fred exited the room, George was watching him from down the hall, popping his knuckles. He was ready to tell Harry off, get him out of Fred's life. And if that failed, he was also prepared to beat the other boy to a bloody pulp.

He dashed to the door he was certain he'd never seen before and opened it, stepped inside, and shut it behind himself.

The room was small, warm, and dimly lit. There was a fireplace on one wall, the only source of light in the room, a bed on another, and an easy chair on the third.

Harry stood in the center of the room, shirt over his head, hair more tousled than usual, and looking surprised.

"That was quick."

The words froze George for a second. He opened his mouth and said, "Yeah?"

"Yeah, did you Apparate to the Library?"

George was nodding. Why the hell was he nodding?

"Breaking the rules just for me?" Harry grinned at him and threw his shirt to one side. He stepped forward and put his arms on George's shoulders, dangling his arms over his back. "Didn't even give me enough time to get my kit off."

"I… Yeah," George said weakly. Why had he come here again?

"Still in those bloody robes," Harry complained, and one hand moved to George's chest and tugged at the gold and red tie at his throat. George swallowed as Harry loosened it and began unbuttoning his shirt.

"Harry, I…"

Harry leaned forward and pressed their mouths together.

George nearly jumped out of his skin, blinking rapidly as Harry kissed him, his tongue moving slowly into George's mouth.

This was not like kissing girls.

Harry's hand found the back of his neck and held him gently in place as he deepened the kiss, coaxing George's tongue with his own. When George finally moved his tongue forward, Harry captured it between his lips and sucked it into his mouth. George inhaled sharply through his nose as Harry sucked on his tongue.

He let go and looked at George curiously.

"Something wrong?"

"Wow," George said weakly. He could barely move now, confused and elated and terrified all at once.

Harry grinned. "Thank you." He leaned in again, and George met his kiss this time, tongue excited, lips eager and impatient. Harry's hands were traveling down his chest, unbuttoning his shirt and crawling inside the fabric to brush over his chest.

As young children, Fred and George had been acutely aware of how much they looked alike. Everywhere they went it stayed with them: school, church, the grocer's… People fawned over them when they were small and they took advantage of it whenever they could.

As they had grown older, it had not been on the front of their minds all the time. Being identical was fun, but it had its drawbacks. It was one thing to have people confuse your name, but when they started mixing up your personality traits… Fred had left a flaming bag of dog shit in the dorm of a Slytherin who had accused him being an anal retentive womanizer.

Girls had called him by his brother's name on more than one occasion, which left him wondering why Fred was the more memorable twin. If it was in passing, George did not bother correcting them. It wasn't worth the time and effort. Fred was the one with the temper, and George did his best to remember that.

But as Harry's thumb brushed over his nipple and tweaked it lightly, George shivered. He scraped his teeth over Harry's lower lip and realized that he was not going to tell the other boy he was not Fred.

"You're so tense today," Harry murmured and stepped back, pulling George toward the bed. "Come on, lie down."

The panic from the night before was in George's chest, and he glanced at the door, then at Harry, who was slipping his shirt and robes off down his arms.

"Lie down?" he repeated. Harry's hands were sprawled over his naked chest, and his brain was shorting out.

"Mm-hmm." Harry was smiling. "Or we can try what I suggested last time, with the chair."

"I – uh…" George was starting to really feel the panic now; if he touched Harry, it would be a lie. What's more, if they did what Harry was suggesting, it could be construed as rape.

"Really, Fred, you okay?" Harry's hands moved to cradle George's face, concern on his face. "Are you bothered about earlier?"

"No," George said quickly. "No, I'm just…" He laughed shortly. "Sorry, I'm just a little out of it, is all."

Harry leaned closer and kissed him again. This time George brought his hands up to the younger boy's skin, the flat expanse of his chest, his shoulders. His hands trembled as they moved up to Harry's face, his hair, where they dug in and gripped the hair, hard.

"Ah," Harry hissed, and kissed George harder.

"It's my turn," George breathed into the kiss and Harry smirked.

Fuck, what was he thinking???

"Then what do you want to do?"

George blanched. "Oh… I dunno… I mean, whatever you want…" He hoped his stammer was not obvious.

"Ladies' choice, huh?" Harry asked easily. "Sit down, ginger." He pushed at George lightly until the backs of his knees hit the easy chair.

"Ginger?" It rubbed George the wrong way and he glowered at Harry until the boy grinned at him and bumped their chests together so that George tripped backwards into the chair.

"I told you I was gonna come up with a new nickname," Harry said mindfully. He leaned closer to George, putting his hands on the arms of the chair. "This is it. Ginger. My ginger."

"Your ginger," George echoed.

"All mine," Harry whispered, and put his knees on the chair cushion on either side of the redhead's legs. He towered above George, who looked up at him, mouth open slightly. His hands through George's hair as he gently pressed his pelvis into his chest.

"That's a dumb name." George tried to think of something better to say, but it was all he could find.

"You don't like it?" Harry murmured. "I like it. I like your ginger hair. I like it up here…" He ran a hand through George's hair. "…and I like it down here." He trailed a finger down his chest, bending forward to hook his finger in the front of George's jeans.

George felt his hands trembling and he gripped the chair arms to hide it. His cock was so fucking hard it was aching, and he didn't know why, didn't know why he liked Harry looking at him like that, touching him like that, talking to him like that… He'd never been more terrified in his life, and he'd never been harder, and he'd only been more excited about something once in his life, but he'd been six at the time, so he didn't really count it.

Harry straightened again and buried his hands in George's hair again. It made George's eyes close for a moment, and he opened them again to look up at the younger boy. His black hair was wild around his face, the dark shadows from the flickering firelight making it a solid fathomless halo, void of all color, around his pale face. His glasses caught the light of the fire, and the green eyes behind them were half-lidded and glittering at him.

"Ha – I…" The words were staccato and nervous, George could barely breathe.

"Do you want me?" Harry breathed, his hands making George's head roll back and then to the side.

"Yes," George choked out. God, he hadn't even known it was true until he said it.

"I want you. I want you so bad, Ginger. I've been thinking about you."

"Me?" George asked weakly.

"You," Harry agreed huskily. It hurt George a little at that moment, to remember that he was playing Fred. That pain was one of the prime reasons the twins had stopped playing their games. "Put your hands on me."

Tentatively, George picked up his hands and placed them on the outsides of Harry's thighs, midway up. He prayed Harry wouldn't feel the unsteadiness in his hands. His fingers trailed up Harry's legs to his hips, then traveled back down to his thighs.

Nervously, George lowered his face and gently kissed Harry's ribs.

"I like that," Harry whispered, and George did it again, this time sucking gently at him. He trailed the kisses along Harry's abdomen, slouching down to kiss his navel, dipping his tongue in to taste the salt of his skin. Harry made a soft noise and with a smile in his voice, said, "That tickles."

George stopped and kissed his skin again, sitting up in the chair. Harry pulled away gently.

"You know the rule." Harry smiled at him. "When it's your turn, you have to suck me."

The panic came back, full force. Of course he should have thought about this. He'd have to look at Harry's dick, touch it, touch his ass. Harry wasn't a woman, didn't have parts George was… well not really familiar with, but certainly more orally familiar with. He nodded to cover the terror.

"Unzip my pants?"

The hands on Harry's thighs moved up to his hips, then traveled to the center of his body and undid the button. George was shaking again, his breath coming too fast for his comfort, and Harry ran his fingers lightly over his shoulders.

He unzipped Harry's crotch and pulled the fabric away part way. Harry was wearing dark grey boxer briefs, and the tight stretchy fabric did nothing to hide his erection. George's mouth was so dry that as he swallowed he coughed lightly.

"C'mon Ginge, you're killing me," Harry whispered and lowered his body so he was sitting on George's lap, legs still straddling him.

George pressed his hand to Harry's crotch and felt the thick, hard length of flesh there. Harry's hips lifted up slightly to press back against his palm, and George exhaled as he closed his fingers around the lump.

"I want it," Harry pleaded, and he leaned forward, rolling his hips so that his erection against George's thigh. He used that voice, the one Fred had obeyed. It melted George's inhibitions, and he fingered inside the Y front of Harry's underwear.

It was absolutely bizarre, to be touching a penis from this angle. George had never noticed how soft the skin of his own penis was, or how hot it was, or how naturally it fit into his palm. He stroked his fingers over it and Harry made a soft sighing noise.

As he pulled Harry's cock out of his underwear to look at it, Harry reached between them and began undoing George's pants. Before George could say anything, Harry reached into his pants and found his cock, slowly petting it through the fabric of his boxers.

George stopped stroking Harry's leaking cock, closed his eyes and gasped.

"Focus, pretty ginger boy," Harry whispered, and George's eyes opened, his cheeks red. He let go of George and stood, pulling his pants down around his ankles and then stepping out of them. His erection was hanging out of the Y front of his boxer briefs, where George had pulled it.

George's hands had a mind of their own, and were at Harry's hips, grabbing the waist band of the shorts and pulling it down to get a better glimpse of Harry's body. He stopped at Harry's knees, unable to look away from Harry's groin.

The red, swollen member was pointing straight at him, and Harry was watching him and waiting, calm and collected. George swallowed.

This was not what he had planned on. He'd had the whole speech worked out. He'd barge in, expecting to see Harry distraught or bored and cross, and rail at him for a few minutes. Then he'd tell him to sod off, go find some other boy to work his sexual perversions on. Then he would tell Harry that really, he wasn't that bad of a bloke, just misguided, not in the sexual orientation way, just in the way he treated people who loved him. He had also decided how he'd beat the snot out of Harry should it come to that: a single punch to the face, just to disorient him, then a few to the stomach, and when he was on the floor, a kick if the boy hadn't gotten the clue yet.

"We don't have to," Harry said, watching George closely. "If you're not in the mood. You don't have to screw me just to make me happy."

"I'm just… really confused," George whispered. He regretted saying it the moment it was out of his mouth. It was one of the other reasons that the twins had stopped their game. The older they got, the more complex the situations became; the more complex the situation, the harder it was to come up with an answer, to lie effectively and maintain the façade.

"Why are you confused?" Harry asked, kneeling in front of George. He put his hand on the older boy's knee and looked at him quietly. George's mind was racing for answer that wouldn't give him away.

"I… I don't know if you really want me here or not," he said finally.

"I do," Harry insisted, leaning forward to kiss George softly. "I want you here. Please. All I do all day is think about how much I want to be with you and how much I care about you."

And George forgot. He forgot he wasn't Fred, he forgot to remember Harry wasn't talking to him, and why he had come there, and what he had planned, and everything else.

"Stand up," he whispered.

Harry did so, grabbing his wand from the floor, and George leaned forward to kiss his left hip, dragging his lips across his body until they reached his pubic hair. He took a deep breath and touched his lips to Harry's cock. It was so warm and he could feel the other boy's pulse against his cheek as he moved.

When he reached the head of Harry's penis, he kissed it slowly, taking the tip into his mouth. He lightly swished his tongue against it, and a salty taste filled his mouth. Nervously, he drew the cock into his mouth as if he would a popsicle, just an inch and a half. His left hand was holding it still, his other on Harry's hip.

He tried to remember his last blow job. It was hard, he hadn't really enjoyed it, and it had been awhile ago. The girl'd bitten him accidentally when her boyfriend had walked in on them, and he'd dashed out of the room laughing, nuts aching, pants around his knees as the couple had screamed at one another behind him.

She'd deep throated him; he didn't think he could do that. She'd also sucked on the head of his cock and jerked off the base at the same time. That seemed more reasonable, but only just.

Slowly he began to suck on Harry as if he were a lollipop, and moved his hand oppositely. The younger boy made a short whimpering noise and rose on his toes. Quickly George remembered to raise his hand expectantly.

"_Lubridado_," Harry said, tapping George's palm with the wand. His palm felt sticky and greasy, as if he'd spread Vaseline on it.

His hand moved between Harry's legs, as he'd seen Harry do the night before, and he found the crack of Harry's ass. It was sort of gross, reaching around to his ass, touching him there, wondering if he was clean or dirty, when the last time he'd bathed was… But he did it anyway, feeling around in Harry's crack for his asshole.

When he found it, he didn't realize it until his finger was already in to his first knuckle. Harry was moving his legs wider apart, breathing noisily through his nose. He pushed his finger further in and realized he had no clue what to do with it.

"You're playing easy on me today," Harry purred, arching his back as George sucked on him. "Don't. I want it rough. Another finger, I want it so deep."

It made George's cock leap in anticipation. He began working his middle finger up and in to join his pointer, and it was so tight that his knuckles hurt a little. Harry made a whimpering noise as George pushed further into him.

Suddenly, having his fingers in Harry's ass wasn't so gross anymore.

George had no idea what to do with his fingers, until he remembered fingering a Ravenclaw girl under the bleachers during a Quidditch game. She'd made him curl his fingers and scissor them inside of her, the movement of it had driven her half mad. He had to remember Harry wasn't a girl, wouldn't like the same things. But he could try it anyway, let Harry be the one to tell him to stop.

Glancing up at Harry, he began to wiggle his fingers and pulled them out slightly, shoving them back up into his anus. The movement made Harry jolt, and his hands, hanging limply at his sides, moved to George's shoulders. Encouraged, George drove his fingers into Harry again, then scissored them.

"Stop," Harry gasped, and George pulled his face and hand away abruptly, alarmed. Harry's face was red. "Not too soon, yeah?" He smiled at George, breath ragged again. He slid his pants down all the way, removing his socks and shoes with them.

Reaching down, he tugged at George's pants and boxers, pulling gently at them until George responded and lifted his hips. He slid the pants down to George's ankles, flipped off his shoes, removed his socks and pants in one fluid movement, then knelt on the chair again.

This time, when he pressed against George to run his hands through his red hair, it was his naked cock that pressed against George's chest. He took George's hand and moved it to his dick to remind him to coat himself with the lubricant.

"Touch yourself for me," Harry teased, but George couldn't laugh as he stroked his own length, spreading the warm substance over his head and shaft. The younger boy did not seem to mind his tension and quiet, simply running his hands over George's neck, shoulders, and chest.

When he had finished, he looked up at Harry.

"You ready, Ginger?" But Harry did not wait for him to say yes or, at the very least, to stop looking completely unsettled. He lowered himself so he could kiss George slowly, rubbing their dicks together.

George's whole body went rigid when Harry did it, and he dug his fingers into the fabric of the chair pillow beneath him. It was a mixture of awful wrongness, horrible pleasure, and delicious terror.

"Say something," Harry coaxed, kissing him again and pressing their chests together. He was sitting on George's cock, his own stiff against George's belly.

"I…" George swallowed and tried again. It wasn't right, him here with Fred's boyfriend, touching him like this, lying to him like this. He had to tell Harry before things got out of control and he turned into someone he didn't want to be. "I'm not…"

And then Harry was raising his hips, reaching between them, and pushing George's erection into himself. The sting of pleasure wiped the red haired boy's mind completely. Harry sat straight up and slowly impaled himself further onto George's cock.

"You're not what, Ginge?" Harry murmured, kissing George's forehead. He moaned softly, and let his full weight pull him down around the dick.

George's breath was gone as the tightness of Harry's body closed in around him. His arms wrapped around Harry's narrow torso and he stifled a desperate groan, shoulders shuddering as he leaned his head against Harry's chest.

"Do you like that, pretty ginger boy?" Harry whispered, and George couldn't even think of the words to tell him yes, nodding fiercely against Harry's chest. "You feel so good." To prove his point, Harry rocked his hips and panted, running his hands down George's back.

George cried out softly and his hips lifted involuntarily. He was clinging to Harry so tightly that the younger boy must have been in some sort of pain, but he said nothing. Harry's legs were working, lifting his body and then letting it slide back down the shaft of George's cock.

It was like a dream of a dream, and George was looking in on himself through a window, so distant and hazy. Obviously, someone was having sex with his brother's boyfriend, but it wasn't his brother, and it wasn't him. Someone was half way between having a nervous breakdown and an orgasm, but it couldn't possibly have been him either.

"Look at me," Harry was whispering in his ear. "I don't like it when you hide from me."

George couldn't do it. He couldn't look up at Harry and see their bodies joined together. It was driving him crazy knowing that the intense sensations in his body were because of a boy, because of _this_ boy, because of his brother's boy. Knowing and seeing were two separate things, and he didn't think he could handle it.

"I'm gonna think you don't like me anymore," Harry's voice was soft, pleading, and it made George loosen his arms, sit back a little, and look at Harry, who was almost eye level with him.

As he fucked himself on George's cock, Harry leaned forward and down, kissing the other boy deeply. His legs were working furiously to raise and lower himself, his hands on George's chest, thumbing over his nipples, rubbing over tickling ribs.

"Harry…" George's voice was strained, desperate. He wanted to tell Harry to stop, to tell him how wrong this was. Instead, he moaned and leaned forward to find the younger boy's lips again. He was so close now that it was starting to make him a little wild.

"Tell me what you want," Harry breathed, connecting their mouths roughly. It was barely a kiss, their tongues thrusting forward, teeth knocking against each other.

"Faster," George moaned.

"You don't get to cum first, I do," Harry said, but sped up his movements, twisting sharply at George's nipples and making the boy cry out. His ass dragged at the mass of the cock buried in it, gliding like a glove of sensitive skin.

"Did you hear me?" Harry growled, and when all George did was whimper and tilt his head back, grabbed him by the hair and yanked his face back to his. "Wait for me, Weasley."

George shook his head madly and panted, "I can't." his brow knitting. He grabbed Harry's shoulder and tried to force his downward thrusts to be rougher, harder, but Harry fought him.

"That's the rule, Ginger. You made it up, you follow it. Fair's fair. I'm doing all the work, and you're not even trying."

"Merlin, what do you want from me?!" George cried out, his fingernails digging into Harry's skin.

"I want you to touch my sodding cock!" Harry tweaked at George's nipple so sharply that he winced. But it worked, and his head cleared enough for him to move one of his hands from Harry's back to between their bodies.

When he grabbed Harry's erection, swollen, hot, and trembling with each downward thrust, George felt Harry finally give in to his forceful pull to be rougher.

Harry slammed their bodies together as he descended, ramming George into his ass so deeply that they were both shaking and gasping for air.

"I'm… so close…" Harry moaned, rising, falling, lifting, thrusting, ebbing, rushing. George kept his hand firm on his prick, trying his hardest to maintain the rhythm that wanted to get washed away in the tide of Harry's body.

"I'm gonna cum," George whimpered, and Harry shook his head frantically.

"Wait, wait, wait," he pleaded, and fuck, fuck, fuck, George wanted to wait, but he couldn't, it was aching, it was building inside of him.

"Harry," he begged. "Please cum. Please. Oh Merlin. Please cum on me." He didn't even know why it came out of his mouth, but once he had started, it was like a torrent of shit, every filthy thing he could think of spewed from his mouth, things he hadn't ever thought of before. "Fuck, I want your cum on me, I wanna fill you up with mine, oh FUCK, Harry, you're so tight, I wanna _ejaculate_," he spat the word out in syllables so hard that Harry grunted when he said it, "so deep in your arse and feel you clamp down on my cock, I want you to know that I'm fucking you, it's just me inside you, you're _mine_."

Harry cried out and suddenly George's hand was hot and wet and sticky, and his grip on Harry's dick was too slippery to hold on to. The wet heat was on his stomach, and he could feel it weighing down the golden red hair that trailed down his abdomen.

And he was slamming his hips upward into Harry, his whole body shook, he was crossing over a threshold into another fucking universe and he was jerking Harry's body down roughly onto himself until he was blooming inside, exploding, falling to pieces.

He yanked Harry down onto his cock three times sharply as the orgasm tore his mind to pieces. He didn't even know where his semen would go once it was all the way out of him and into Harry, but as it left his body rocking with pleasure, he could feel the distance between himself and the rest of the world.

Each pant that pulled itself from his heaving form yanked a small noise with it, a small moan of exhaustion. He was clinging to Harry desperately, his dick now hypersensitive and terrified of the journey out of Harry's body.

Harry's hands were on his back, and they were quivering as they pet him.

"Where…" Harry's voice was unsteady. He laughed weakly and tried again, "Where did that come from?"

The words would not come, and George shook his head helplessly. He didn't know, honestly. Harry's hands were gently, swirling up his neck into his hair.

Slowly, Harry pushed up, trying to separate their bodies. He grunted in pain and immediately fell back down. They both winced as George's dick rammed back up into him.

"I hurt you." George had already begun berating himself when Harry laughed.

"No, you prat, my legs are cramped up." Harry's hips and legs were trembling, and George sat back a little. He rolled his hips back, slowly removing his softening member from Harry's ass.

"Here, hold on, this is gonna hurt," George told him, and hooked his arms underneath Harry's bum, scooting to the edge of the chair. He stood slowly, feeling Harry's legs extend as he lifted the younger boy. Harry's arms hugged tightly around him with a small pained grunt.

"Bloody hamstrings," Harry growled. George took a short step to the bed and leaned forward, his hands moving from Harry's bottom to his knees to keep them from draping awkwardly. The arms around his shoulders kept Harry from toppling over backwards.

Harry let go when his back met the mattress, and he watched as George gently lowered his legs to the bed, keeping his knees bent. The legs shook violently in the air, and Harry clenched his fists. George sat on the bed between his thighs and extended his lanky legs underneath Harry's knees, giving them somewhere to rest.

His hands moved to one of Harry's thighs and began to massage it delicately.

"Ah," Harry hissed, and his hands moved to George's feet.

"Tell me if I hurt you," George said, and pressed a little harder, working his fingers into the stiff muscle.

Harry's torso twisted and he bit his lip. He made a pleased noise though, and his fingers moved up George's feet to his calves, stroking the wiry red hair that covered them.

"Not going to just magic it away like usual?" Harry asked, a teasing note to his voice.

"No, that's –" That's Fred who uses magic for bloody everything, the lazy git. George stopped himself and said, "Well, yeah. I mean, I guess I just thought I'd try something different, and…" He started to get up, go for his wand.

"No, wait." Harry sat up and grabbed his ankle before he could pull away. "I like different. Different is good." He smiled warmly at the older boy, who smiled awkwardly and moved back into his spot.

George's hands moved back to Harry's thigh and resumed his ministrations on Harry's worn-out muscles. Harry closed his eyes and sighed softly.

"That feels brilliant," he commented, and ran his fingers up and down through the golden hair on George's legs.

"This is an ancient wizarding secret passed down through generations of Weasleys," George said mysteriously. "I learned it from my father, who learned it from his father, who learned it from Tibetan monks."

"Really?" Harry asked, opening his eyes and lifting his head.

"That or Oliver Wood taught me in the boys' locker, I always get 'em twisted round." George grinned and Harry laughed, putting his head back down.

"Oliver teach you anything else in the boys' locker?" Harry teased.

"I never kiss and tell," George told him primly.

Harry snorted. "Since when?"

George winced inwardly. He had no clue if Fred had ever made it with Oliver; it was turning out there was a great deal his twin was hiding from him. But in his attempt to avoid a lie, he'd forgotten that Fred was a bit of a braggart.

"Since Oliver gave leg rubs to every boy on the Quidditch team who sat still," George told him matter-of-factly. "I think he used it as an excuse to feel us all up."

"I'd have let Oliver get Wood off my legs any day," Harry said, and George made a gagging face. They both laughed, and George moved to Harry's other thigh. "He never offered one to me, though."

"He never caught you with your pants round your ankles. Besides, you were just a kid." George grinned. Harry's hands were exploring his ankle, and he felt… comfortable and awkward at the same time. Harry watched his hand travel down the length of George's foot.

"Why isn't it always like this?" he asked softly.

Nervously, George shrugged and pressed his fingers more firmly into Harry's leg.

Harry propped himself up with one elbow and reached down to take George's hand from his leg. George abandoned the massage and let Harry pull him forward, until he had to move his legs and crawl up the bed. Harry used his fingers to urge him onto his back, then moved closer.

Uncomfortably, George let Harry twine their bodies together. The intimacy was intimidating, Harry's leg between his, Harry's arm around his waist, Harry's soft groin against his hip, Harry's head on his shoulder.

"This was good," Harry whispered.

George nodded, grateful for something he could be honest about.

"You were incredible."

This made George's ears turn red and he tried to hide the small smile that crept onto his face. "Yeah, well."

"How do you feel?"

"Good," George admitted. It was too hard to say it to Harry's face though, and he had to remember that he wasn't George feeling good, he was Fred feeling good. He looked at Harry. "Bloody brilliant, really. You've got a talent, don't you?"

"I like you when you're like this."

George held his breath and looked away. "Yeah?"

"Sometimes I feel like you're continents away from me."

"I'm sorry," George said quietly. "I don't mean it." He felt like a bloody sop, cleaning up Fred's mess, and a small ball of panic began to build in his stomach.

"I know." Harry's hand stroked his skin. "I could fall in love with you, ginger boy."

The panic, rather than build slowly inside of George burst into flames, exploded, and released millions of screaming tiny panics into him. He sat up abruptly and cleared his throat.

"Good lord, I just forgot," he said, getting up. "I'm so thick sometimes! So fucking thick and dense. I've left all my notes with the study group, haven't I?"

"You went all the way there to get them, though," Harry argued. "You went over, didn't pick them up and came back?" He sat up and watched George grab his clothing.

"Guess so!" George jammed his legs into his pants, his chest tight, terror ripping through him. "I'm just going to pop over and get them and… I'll be back, you won't even notice I'm gone."

"I'm noticing right now," Harry pointed out as George yanked his shirt on and quickly buttoned it up, jamming his tie in the pocket of his robe.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," George said, and moved back to the bed awkwardly. "I really… I don't mean anything by it, I swear. It's just you know I'm failing Defense, and if I don't have those notes I'm sunk."

"Well, then wait for a moment," Harry said, getting up on his knees. He reached up and pulled George down by his neck. Their lips met, and it was soft and sweet, and Harry's tongue was warm and melting and inviting and George had never felt anything more horrific in his entire life.

"I'll be back," he whispered.

"I'll be waiting," Harry murmured.

George turned and bolted out of the room. The door shut silently behind him and he began brusquely walking down the hall. As he was halfway down, he saw his brother round the corner.

Fuck.

If he went in to find Harry, spent, exhausted, and waiting for him to have a post-coital lie down, he'd probably figure the whole stupid mess out.

"Oi, wanker!" Fred called with a grin.

"How's it, knob boy?" George replied, nodding. Fred stopped next to the armor and tilted his head.

"Where you coming from?"

"Ah… Down the hall." George half-turned and pointed over his shoulder.

"I can see that," Fred retorted. "Where down the hall?"

"Round the corner and down another hall." George gesture again. "There was another hall before that one."

"And another before that?"

"May have been," he agreed with a nod.

"Who'd you snog?" Fred demanded, the grin back on his face.

"No one," he protested, forcing a sheepish smile.

"Not that Hermione?" Fred scolded, putting his hands on his hips and leaning forward like their mum. "You'll break our little Ronald's heart."

"Our love is a forbidden one," George declared, raising one arm. A group of second years strolled by and giggled at them.

"Well it can't be helped when you make as fine a pair as you two." Fred nodded solemnly.

"She is a vision, our Hermione," George agreed. "Like a ferret with a perm."

Fred snorted with laughter so hard that he choked, and he doubled over laughing and coughing. His brother patted him on the back.

"I know. It chokes me up to think about her as well."

"You're a sodding prick," Fred gasped, face red as he laughed. "Good god. She is as well, isn't she?"

The hall was empty. George took a step away and pulled his wand out of his pocket. "_Wingardium Leviosa_," he whispered, and flicked his wrist at the suit of armor. It lifted, and from where Fred was bent over, he could not see it move over him.

"I'm really, really sorry," George said. Fred looked up at him, confused. "I owe you one, okay? I swear I'll make it up to you."

"What're you on about?" Fred asked, coughing and straightening up.

The suit of armor crashed down on him. Fred fell underneath it, and his coughing stopped. George yelped and dashed forward. There was blood on the floor. He lifted the helmet of the suit and threw it to one side.

The coughing resumed, and Fred lay on the floor, blood pooling under his head, eyes blinking woozily. They shut and he coughed again.

George leaned forward and hoped his father would never find out about this particular misuse of magic. Spotting a first year down the hallway, he hollered, "Get some help!"

Then he looked back down at Fred and Obliviated the last hour from his mind.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: I'd like to sincerely thank the readers who left feedback: it means a lot to me that you are enjoying the story (or at least the smut).

This chapter is not quite as exciting as the previous two, so if you _are_ here for the smut and not the story (and it doesn't bother me if you are), it will pick back up next week, never fear.

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Part Three

George lay in his bed, staring at the curtains again.

Fred was in his own bed, sleeping off the potion Madame Pomfrey had given him to cut down the swelling of his brain. She had told him in no uncertain terms that he was lucky to be alive. A few more minutes and the damage done to his skull could have caused a hemorrhage.

George felt fucking sick.

He'd nearly killed his brother.

He'd slept with a boy.

He'd lied to that boy.

He'd lied to his brother.

And now, to top it all off, he could not stop thinking about Harry.

There was no one in the world, wizarding or muggle, who was more of an arse, more of a pervert, than he was.

He pushed his face into the pillows. He was sick for liking it with Harry. He was sick for wanting it again. There was something wrong with him, and he didn't know what it was, but was turning him into a monster. A monster who had dropped a full suit of armor on the only twin he had.

Suddenly he stumbled to his feet and ran to the bathroom. He bent over a toilet and began retching into it violently.

"Oi." Lee stuck his head into the bathroom. "You alright?"

"Fine," George croaked, leaning forward and vomiting again.

"You want me to call Pomfrey?" There was an alarmed sound to Lee's voice.

George shook his head vehemently. "I'm fine, Lee."

"Yeah, you look bloody brilliant," Lee muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Nerves," George gasped. His eyes were watering from the effort and he swiped at them quickly, in case Lee mistook them for tears. His stomach lurched again and he puked so harshly some flowed up his nose.

He began coughing and sputtering, and Lee walked into the bathroom, pulling a towel from the rack and running it under the tap. He crouched next to George and held it out.

"They're some well shagged nerves you've got," Lee told him as he took the towel and pressed it against his face.

"Something I ate."

"You ate a live Norwegian Ridgeback?"

"Might've done." George sat back, leaning against the wall and lowered the towel.

"Well which is it, nerves or dinner?"

"Either. Both. I dunno."

Lee stood and dumped George's toothbrush from his cup and filled it with water. He brought it over and leaned down to hand it to George.

"Y'know, I like you and Fred," Lee said slowly, watching him closely sip at the water, swish it in his mouth and spit it into the toilet. "But my Da' says that if you're always cracking jokes, it's to cover up somethin' you don't want anyone seeing."

"I've just finished barfing up all my deep dark secrets," George said, gesturing to the toilet. "Turns out they were mostly pumpkin juice and green beans. Shouldn't be long before I can be a functioning member of society again."

"I'm just saying that you can talk to me if you like. You don't always have to be funny. I don't expect you to be."

George sipped at the water, then closed his eyes and held the cool wet towel to his face.

"I appreciate it, Lee," he said quietly. He felt the other boy's hand on his shoulder gently.

"I'm going back to bed; it's late." Lee stood and began to leave.

"Lee?"

"Yeah?"

"What else does your Dad say?" George did not look up at Lee.

Lee was thoughtful a moment. "He says that we've all got good inside us. And that no mistake's so great that it can never be forgiven if you let that good lead you through life. And not to trust somethin' if it bleeds for seven days and doesn't die."

George laughed and looked up at Lee, who was grinning.

"Reckon he's still sore at my Mum for takin' up with the milkman?" Lee asked, cocking his head.

"Reckon." George grinned at him and Lee nodded.

"You really okay, mate?"

George paused, then shook his head. "No." Lee nodded, slower this time. "You won't tell?"

"No one to tell."

"I'm the one dropped the armor on Fred."

Lee closed the door of the bathroom and walked back inside, sitting down across from George. His face was serious, but he said nothing.

"I… I didn't mean to really hurt him." George took a deep breath and moved his eyes to look at the ceiling; they suddenly burned sharply. "I just… I did something stupid. And I knew he'd go mental if he found out. So I…" His voice cracked and pitched high, and he brought the towel back to his face and pressed it against his eyes. "I didn't mean it, I just wanted to distract him."

"He's okay though," Lee reminded him.

"But only just," George said, and his voice went ragged around the edges. "I could've really hurt him, I could've killed him, and all over something so fucking stupid." He grit his teeth and felt the towel near his eyes grow hot and damp. "I told him I'd make it up to him. But I don't think I can."

Lee said nothing, watching him.

"What if I'd killed him? I can't live without him. I can't even sleep at night if I don't know where he is." George drew his knees up to his chest, glad he could not see Lee. "I lost track of everything today. I had my mind set, I had a plan, and it all fell apart, and I almost killed the only person in the world that matters."

"The 'What if's and the 'Almost's and the 'Could've's will keep you in the past. When you dwell in yesterday, you can't see tomorrow." Lee's voice was strong, but gentle.

"Your mum go with the mailman as well?"

"Took a lot of philosophy to get through the divorce." There was a smile in the other boy's voice, and George felt oddly safe. "Fred looks fine to me. Sleepin' out there like a baby. A twelve stone, snoring, butt-ugly baby."

George laughed shortly. "You sayin' I'm ugly?"

"I'm saying the only thing fouler than you two is the rear end of a dog with three heads to eat and only one arse to shit."

George's laugh was more genuine this time. He pulled the towel down.

"I don't think Fred'd sleep so soundly if he didn't have a brother who'd sat by him for five hours, passing up a chance to catch up on a month's worth of make-up Divination coursework as well as a chance to play Spin the Flask with Suki Sebastian, rumored to be the most shaggable slag in Gryffindor."

"He snored the whole time," George said woefully. "I bet Suki doesn't snore."

"And you may never know," Lee informed him. "But I'd wager Cedric does."

"Shut your filthy mouth," George said flatly. Lee grinned at him.

"He is findin' out as we speak," Lee said, raising a hand to swear upon.

"That wanker!" George indignantly threw the towel to the floor.

"Your brother or Cedric?"

"Bloody both! If that git had died I'd not have sat next to him, wasting my time listening to him snore! I'd be finding out if Suki snored!"

"I don't think Suki goes for red-headed trolls," Lee told him, standing up. He bent over and helped George get to his feet.

"That's just coz she hasn't met me yet," George said, stretching his legs.

"Eh, she's met Fred. If y'meet one of you, you've met both."

George shoved him, and Lee laughed.

"Night, Lee."

"Night."

George got into his bed, pulling the curtains shut around him. It was easier to think about now. Lee was right, Fred was okay, and in the end, that was all that mattered. He could hear his twin snoring in the next bed and it was soothing. His eyes drifted shut.

So.

Harry.

His eyes popped open.

It was going to be a long night.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: The smut has returned. The plotline has not completely disappeared, though. I have my dignity. Okay, not really. But I have my integrity. Sort of.

Maybe.

Whatever.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

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Part Four

Two months. And counting. Two months, one day. And counting. Two months, two days. And counting. Two months, two days, four hours, six minutes and fifty-three seconds.

And counting.

George blinked into the sunlight and then moved his eyes to the door. Two months since he'd screwed up everything. Two months since the Obliviation charm had failed, but it hadn't mattered because Fred lost all his memories of nearly the whole week.

Two months since he'd started to wonder if he was gay.

Sure, there was the sex. That was sort of a give-away. But anyone could have sex with _anyone_. Paper bag, dim lighting, he'd probably screw Finch. It didn't prove anything.

And yeah, it had been good. Mind-blowingly good. Numbingly good. As in, George had not been able to shag a single girl since. Four trips to Hogsmeade in a row, he'd been cornered by some girl at some party, and they'd start snogging. Each time, he'd reach under her blouse, become vaguely under-whelmed with her breasts, and then she'd go for his trousers and BAM.

Nothing.

Four. Sodding. Times.

He'd played it off as drunk, the alcohol inhibiting his body, preventing a hard on, not his bloody fault, stupid bint, get off, quit pawing at him, didn't she have friends who were missing her right now?

Right, so… That wasn't entirely true. _Three_ times it'd happened. The fourth he'd charmed his dick to get hard beforehand, and when she'd gone for his trousers, she'd gone giggly and wiggly, pushed him back on the bed, and began scrubbing her bits against his. It hadn't made him puke, or even want to puke, but he'd thought seriously about wanting to want to puke.

She'd taken her clothes off, then his, lay down, pulled him on top of her, and he'd just stared at her, like he couldn't remember what to do. It had taken a few seconds of her frowning before he'd finally remembered that he ought to shag her, and once he'd started, was spectacularly disappointed.

It wasn't like he'd remembered at all. Why had he wanted this, anyway? She'd seemed to like it alright, she'd squealed enough to attract a whole army of pigs. He'd asked her kindly to shut it while he went to work. Dumbfounded, she'd stopped and he buried his face in the pillow next to her face as he fucked her. He focused his mind on the Divination work he needed to do, and lunch that day with his brothers and Ron's friends. And he wasn't sure what it was that made him spill into her finally, but it wasn't her B cups, her slick pussy, her soft small mouth, or any of her other mildly charming features.

He'd climaxed, he was fairly certain she'd climaxed, she left, and he had lain in bed feeling unsatisfied, angry, and a little confused. It was the type of mood that if he'd been a few years younger, he knew he'd have been crying into the pillow.

It was enough to make him lose his bloody mind.

He looked at the door again. Fred was in detention for kicking Mrs. Norris. No kidding, he'd just pulled his foot back and let her have it. George was still in disbelief about the whole thing. But then again, Fred was having a bad day.

He'd dumped Suki Sebasian, who he'd been dating for three weeks. He'd asked her out shortly after he'd failed a DADA quiz. But, as it turns out, not only did she snore, but she was incredibly not easy or sleazy. In fact, the only reason Fred'd found out she snored was that she'd gotten drunk at a party they'd gone to and passed out on his shoulder. Fred reckoned his ear'd never work quite right again. George reckoned that Fred did not really discriminate between girls and boys.

He'd flunked a DADA exam. Surprisingly, although Suki was the captain of the study group, she was denser than Molly Weasley's pound cake (which had been used several times instead of sandbags when a flood struck the Burrow). But her intelligence aside, she'd refused to help Fred with his own school work.

He'd been shoved into the courtyard fountain by a sixth year Slytherin boy. In a twist of events, Suki, while not sleazy, was not big on monogamy. This was reinforced shortly after Fred resurfaced from the water of the fountain, spluttering, to find a third year Ravenclaw picking a fight with the Slytherin boy. Suki had stood nearby, giggling and blushing.

And now, on top of it all, he was missing a meeting with Harry. And since McGonagall had been in such a foul temper, Fred would not even have a chance to tell him. Which meant Harry would be sitting around for hours, waiting for a boy who would never show.

George knew about the meeting, of course, as he had seen the scrawled pen on Harry's palm during lunch. Five o'clock. He also knew it had been three days since the two boys had last gotten together.

So here he was. In front of the door. The door that, apparently, no one else could see. And he could go in if he wanted. He didn't have to go in. _Obviously_. But he could. He looked around. No one was in the hall. He cleared his throat.

The plan, as it was: Go inside. Talk to Harry. Try and talk himself out of this whole "not into girls" thing. If things got weird, or he started to lose control of himself, he'd just say he really had to get to detention before McGonagall lost her mind, and then book it.

He raised a hand, and opened the door.

Harry was on the bed, feet on the wall, head dangling over the edge of the bed. George stepped inside and closed the door.

"Hey," Harry grinned upside down at George.

"How's it?" George said, shifting on his feet.

"About to get a lot better." Harry's gestured at the mattress. George crossed the room and sat down.

Oh flying elephant bollocks, what was he doing here?

"I uh…"

"Feels like forever, doesn't it?" Harry said, swinging his legs down and swiveling his body so his head lay in George's lap.

"Three days isn't forever," he replied, his face flushing.

"Feels like it." Harry smiled at him, picking up his hand and lacing their fingers together. "Feels like months."

He'd made a mistake coming here.

"You been thinking about me?" Harry brought his hand to his mouth and began kissing the back of it. "I been thinking about you."

"Have you?" It was nearly a squeak, and George cleared his throat.

"Long and hard," Harry confirmed, raising his eyebrows suggestively. He unlaced their fingers and kissed the palm of George's hand sweetly. "It gets better the more I think about it."

"I might've been thinking about you," George told him weakly, looking away.

"After last time I think you'd be unable to do anything _but_ think about me." Harry grinned and laughed guiltily, looking up at George. "My poor, sweet ginger boy. Always getting the long end of the shaft, aren't you?"

"Short end," George corrected him. "Of the stick."

"I know what I said," Harry laughed and his eyes twinkled in the firelight so merrily that George felt his dick thicken a little. He kissed the tips of George's fingers. "Look at this, you've been here a whole minute and not even kissed me once. What sort of tryst is this?"

"I thought we might chat a bit," George mumbled, his ears so hot he almost expected to find someone holding a match to them.

"Did you? What shall we chat about?" Harry ran his fingers down George's palm and then inserted the tip of George's pointer finger into his mouth. He sucked on it lightly.

"What're you doing?" George demanded, too embarrassed to remember Harry's question.

"Practicing." Harry laughed around George's finger and then pushed George's finger further into his mouth. His tongue stroked at the pad of the finger, and George said nothing.

He could feel his dick responding to the move. It wasn't fair, every girl did this before she offered a blow job, and it had never worked on George before. He'd always grinned and told the girl she was getting his hand all spitty. She'd get huffy, he'd kiss her until he _did_ get hard, and then she'd suck him off. Easy as.

"You like that, then?" Harry asked, pulling the finger from his mouth. He twisted his head slightly and George's breath caught as it rubbed against his cock. It was not an accidental gesture. "You want me to blow you?"

God, such a bloody mistake.

"I… uh…" George looked down at Harry, then at the door. Not too late to get up and bolt.

Harry sat up and said, "Sorry. I know you don't like being teased."

George shrugged, too embarrassed to look at him.

"I won't do it anymore," Harry said, and straddled his lap, laying his arms on George's shoulders.

"It's not too bad," George mumbled. Harry leaned in and kissed his throat gently. The redhead closed his eyes and exhaled sharply.

God, he could still leave. He could still leave.

"Is that what you want today, Ginger?" Harry whispered, and gently rocked his hips against George's. George's hands moved to Harry's thighs as he felt the other boy's stiffened cock rub against his own through their pants. "I wanna play around with you." The lips pressed to his throat again, trailing up to his ear, where they sucked lightly.

"Okay." It was the only thing he could manage.

"You're usually pretty impatient when it's your turn," Harry mused, kissing his throat. "Maybe we won't count this one as a turn."

"Okay," George repeated. His hands moved up Harry's legs to his hips, then the sides of his body, but his head was still turned to face the door.

"Look at you, three days apart and you're a sopping mess of slush," Harry laughed, and rocked his hips again.

"Am not," George said faintly. His fingers tightened on Harry's ribs. Harry's hands were pulling his tie off, unbuttoning his shirt. As if he hadn't caused enough trouble last time, and he wasn't even going to try and stop it all from happening again.

"Ginger boy, I don't want to do all the work," Harry said softly, and craned his neck to kiss George's lips.

George turned his face back toward Harry and opened his eyes.

"Sorry, I… I'm just…"

"A spaceman," Harry finished for him. He nodded and let Harry lean in to kiss him again. "I like my men all muddled up."

"I'm not… usually like this," he tried.

"No," Harry replied, "but I like different, remember?" They smiled, their eyes on the other's mouth. George pressed forward to kiss Harry.

"You taste so good," he whispered, and Harry ran his tongue over the older boy's lips.

"You always say that," Harry complained, and pulled back. George watched as Harry lay down on his side and looked up invitingly. "You taste like boy."

"What's that taste like?" He let Harry take his hand and pull him down.

"Like salt and snails and puppy dog tails." Harry's fingers pulled at George's shirt and he sat up to pull it off, then lay back down.

"That's disgusting," George told him pointblank.

"Tastes alright to me," Harry said, moving forward to kiss him. It was a longer kiss, and he found his hand moving up to Harry's neck and stroking his skin softly.

"I want you," George whispered, mildly surprised.

Harry smiled and stroked a hand down his chest, following the line of orange hair that trailed down his stomach. His fingers found George's pants and he ran his palm down the front of them.

He unzipped George's pants and reached inside to stroke him gently. George's eyes shut as Harry touched him, and enthusiastically returned the deep kiss Harry pressed against his lips.

"Does it make you feel good?" Harry murmured, and George nodded, eyes still closed as he knit his brow. Harry tugged the older boy's trousers down and then off. He pulled George's hand to the front of his shirt. "Don't be selfish, ginger boy."

George opened his eyes and unbuttoned Harry's shirt. Harry did not pull it off, but waited as George undid his belt, then unzipped his trousers. Licking his lips, George looked at Harry, then down at his crotch. He tentatively touched Harry's stomach, then slid his hand downward to where he could see the lump in his underwear.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked softly. "You're not acting like yourself at all."

"I'm fine," George said quickly. He sat up and crawled on top of Harry. Playing the more aggressive role was an easy way to seem more like his brother. Hanging over Harry, he looked down and said, "Worried George and I'll switch out?" He grinned at the younger boy, giddy from hinting at his secret.

Harry burst into laughter. George nearly faltered for a moment.

"That's a riot," Harry gasped, his face wide with the smile. "George 'n' me!"

"Isn't it?" George asked, leaning down and kissing Harry's chest to hide any emotion that might show on his face.

"God, he doesn't even know I'm alive," Harry laughed, running his hands through George's hair.

"How could he not?" He didn't think about it before he said it, but was suddenly worried he would sound too defensive.

"He doesn't look twice at anything that doesn't jiggle when it walks." Harry tugged his hair and George crawled up his body to kiss him on the mouth.

"Nothing wrong with appreciating the female population."

"Appreciate?" Harry snorted when he said it. "He's slept with half the girls in school."

"Girls like him," George replied, admitting to himself he was a little proud of his reputation.

"Why wouldn't they?" Harry pulled George down to press their bodies together. The contact made George flush and he tentatively ground their hips together. "You two are fucking beautiful." It made George smile shyly to hear the praise. "But I don't think that he likes those girls back."

"What's that mean?" George blinked at him.

"There's so many of them," Harry said, and shrugged. "Like he doesn't care enough about one to settle down."

"So?"

"So maybe he goes through them so quickly because he isn't actually attracted to women. Maybe he fancies blokes and just doesn't know it, or know how to say it." Harry rolled them both over so that he was on top.

"That's ridiculous." George sat up, nearly smacking their heads together. Quickly Harry pulled back. "He's just young. He'll settle down eventually."

"Nothing wrong with it," Harry said uncertainly. "I mean, look at us, we're… well…"

"We're what?" George snapped.

Harry did not look happy. Too late, George realized the hypocrisy in "Fred's" statement. "Well, we're gay, aren't we?"

"Well it's… it's different when it's your brother who's being called a pouf." George swung his legs over the edge of the bed and reached for his shirt.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, frustrated. "I don't understand why you're so upset!"

"I'm upset because it's none of your sodding business if George is or isn't fucking queer!" George was shoving his arms into his sleeves now, so angry that he wanted to hit something.

"Calm down!" Harry looked alarmed, and a little scared. "I didn't call him queer, or a pouf. I was just thinking out loud, I wouldn't have said anything if I thought you'd go off on me like this."

"Well you were wrong," George spat, and began to button up his shirt, standing up.

"Please don't," Harry said, grabbing his wrists. George shook him off violently. Harry grabbed him again, but this time, George held still. "I won't say anything else, alright? I just… I was going to suggest you talk to him or something. I didn't have anyone to talk to when I came out." He went quiet. "It might be easier if he knew he had somewhere to turn."

"It doesn't matter though, does it? He doesn't fancy blokes." George looked away from Harry, but did not push him off.

"No, I guess not. What I thought doesn't matter. It's what he thinks." Harry pulled him a little closer, and George let him. "You going to leave?"

George did not look at him, and shrugged.

"Y' gonna stay?"

"Dunno if I should." It was all too true; George was feeling like the longer he stayed there with Harry, the more of himself he lost.

"You should," Harry told him. "I'll make it up to you. You'll not be sorry you stayed."

With a small weary sigh, George sat down on the bed. Harry put his chin on George's shoulder watched him sit in silence for a moment.

"No more… no more chatting," George said wearily.

"None," Harry confirmed. He gently took George's hand in his own. Lifting it, he kissed the knuckles tenderly. "Stay, Ginger." He tugged at the edges of the older boy's shirt, and George let him slide it off.

Harry pulled them both back down onto the bed. He stroked George's cheek and kissed him.

Kissing Harry was frighteningly good.

Harry's hands were on him again, and his dick, which had been forgotten in the fight, grew heavy and swollen. His trousers and boxers were dragged down to his ankles slowly, and he felt Harry kiss at his stomach, pressing his chest to George's cock.

"Oi, what're you doing?" George said, pulling away and covering his crotch with a hand.

"Kissing you," Harry replied, looking up. "Did I bite you?"

"No I mean… I'm not wearing anything and you're… down near my bits, and…" George was rambling and he could feel his ears turning red.

"I've seen you naked before," Harry reminded him.

"You've still got your trousers and shorts on!" George gestured toward the clothing, relieved to have found an excuse for Fred to be perturbed.

Immediately Harry stood up on the bed and yanked his clothes down, kicking them off onto the floor. He knelt back down and looked at the length of George's body. He tugged at the hand covering George's erection and testicles.

"I don't like it when you hide from me." George recognized the phrase from the first time they'd been together. Awkwardly, he let the boy pull his hand aside.

There was a warm lustful look on Harry's face as his eyes roamed over George's body. George shifted unhappily as Harry watched him closely: freckled shoulders, pale skin, broad shoulders, stiff red cock, golden red body hair, muscled legs and stomach.

When he moved, Harry's eyes looked up to his face to see the discomfort written on it. Quickly he crawled forward and lay down next to George, looking him in the eye.

"There. Not staring. Did not look at every centimeter of you. Also not chatting. Not even going to comment on how bloody fit you are." Harry kissed his collarbone and George could feel his face going red again, could feel the heat creeping up his forehead into his hairline. It wasn't something he was unaware of, not the first time he'd heard it. But it pleased him now, more so than it ever had before.

Gently Harry pressed their bodies together and began kissing down his chest to his stomach again. His hands went to George's hips, and rolled him onto his back.

"What're you doing?" George's voice was faint as Harry kneaded his hips and kissed down his stomach.

"Have you ever had to ask before?" Harry replied, tonguing his bellybutton. He looked up at George, who was flushed all the way to his shoulders.

"I can't be expected to remember," George muttered. Harry grinned at him and resumed moving his mouth down George's body. "Seriously, what are you doing?" He started to get nervous.

Harry laughed shortly and lifted his head again. "Do you want me to swallow or spit, ginger boy?" George stared at him. It took him a few seconds to process. "C'mon. I sucked your finger. I told you I wanted to play around with you. This isn't a surprise."

"I…" George shrugged, embarrassed he hadn't been able to pick up on Harry's clues. "I just wanted to hear you say it," he lied.

"I'm going to give you a blow job," Harry told him matter-of-factly. They looked at each other for another few seconds. "That sparkle with you?"

"I… uh…"

"Just lie down." Harry rolled his eyes. "You're on another planet today."

"Sorry."

Harry smiled and shook his head, lowering it to kiss down George's hip. He grasped George's dick with one hand before moving in to lick it slowly.

"Oh fuck." George hoped Harry could not hear the fear in his voice.

If he did, it did not stop him, as he lowered his head to swallow his cock. Harry sucked slowly as he lifted his head, and George's feet shook and trembled as he watched Harry.

Harry lowered his head again, swallowing him completely, and George yelped.

He grabbed the sheets in his fists and ejaculated into Harry's throat.

Coughing, Harry sat up abruptly and wiped his mouth. He was gasping for breath, eyes watering.

"I… sorry, I'm sorry," George mumbled, quickly sitting up and yanking himself away from where Harry was kneeling. He was so humiliated he could feel the orgasm leave almost no trace in his body.

Harry shook his head, coughing, hand still against his mouth.

"It's okay," he wheezed, his face red with the effort of coughing. "You just surprised me."

Hearing that did not help George's embarrassment level, and he pulled his legs up to his chest and sat against the headboard. He wanted to grab his clothes and bolt from the room.

"Really, it's okay," Harry repeated, seeing his face. He cleared his throat and scooted toward George. "It's a compliment, isn't it?" He smiled weakly at George.

The older boy did not meet his eyes.

"Never happened before," George muttered.

"I don't care," Harry said.

George did not really believe him.

"I think I should go," George mumbled. He did not want to see the disappointment on Harry's face, so he did not look.

"No turn for me today?" Harry asked him.

"I'll make it up to you next time."

Yeah, except for the part where there wasn't going to BE a next time. Harry didn't need to know that anymore than he needed to know he'd just sucked off the wrong twin.

"You don't have to," Harry said quickly. "Look, we don't have to do anything else. I'd like to just lie here with you."

George did not want to. He wanted to get the fuck out of the bloody room and never come back and just be done with the whole shameful ordeal. But he could hear the pleading in Harry's voice. If he left and Harry was upset, Harry'd be upset with Fred. And there was a good chance he'd get in a row with him over it, and then Fred would say he'd been in detention, and GOD it was almost easier to just turn to Harry admit the damn truth, and deal with consequences of that.

"Just for a bit," he said finally. "Could you… hand me my shorts?"

Harry jumped from the bed, snatched them from the floor, and handed them to George as he sat back on the bed. George swiftly pulled them on and felt a little safer and less exposed.

Harry grabbed his own underwear and put them back on. He sat next to George uncertainly. There was utter silence, and George wished Harry'd just bloody say something and break the tension.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked finally.

George nodded shortly. Harry nodded slowly in response and looked at his feet, then back up at the redhead. George could feel his eyes burning into him. He leaned away from Harry almost imperceptibly.

"If you're okay why are you acting like I'm not in the room?" Harry asked him, moving closer a little. George shifted away accordingly.

"Why d'you think?" George looked at the coverlet on the bed.

"You know, I don't need you to last a long time," Harry said softly. "I don't care how long it takes you. You looked sexy when you got off. That's what matters to me."

George closed his eyes.

He really liked the things Harry was saying. He liked listening to Harry talk. He liked the sound of Harry's voice.

"Ginger, you gonna cry?" Harry sounded worried. George shook his head. He felt Harry's hand cover his and he did not pull away. "Why don't you lie down?"

George nodded. The hand on his pulled him toward the head of the bed and he lay down, opening his eyes to pull the covers over his shoulders and then closed his eyes again.

He felt Harry slide into the bed next to him. There were gentle hands on his face and neck, stroking him softly. Harry's body moved closer to his and not opening his eyes, George reached out and pulled their bodies flush together.

Wrapping his arms around George, Harry tucked his head against the older boy's throat.

"Really, I've never done that before," George muttered. "Fluke or something."

"Happened to me the first time a boy touched me," Harry told him. "Jizzed in my trousers. Didn't even have time to get 'em off."

"Least I got mine off." There was a hint of teasing in his tone.

"Well I'd not ever been touched before," Harry shot back. "Smacked around a bit, a friendly hug, a pat on the back. I was bloody steel by the time he got round to kissing me. Touching me all over, tickling me, teasing me… Started rubbing me through my trousers and I got so scared and excited that I creamed myself."

"Scared?" George frowned.

"It was wrong." Harry's voice was soft and low, and George felt like a boat rocking in deep waters. "Boys aren't supposed to touch other boys, are they?" He gave a slight snort of derision. George wondered if Harry was embarrassed of who he used to be. "I was fairly sure I was in for it if I got found out. Nearly cried myself to sleep."

George found his hands wandering down Harry's back to his hips, then sliding around his body to his stomach.

"You ever cum early again?" he asked in a low voice.

"You know the answer to that," Harry said, a grin in his voice. George smiled back and opened his eyes, lowering one of his hands to Harry's shorts.

No, actually, he didn't know the answer to that.

He brushed his hand over the fabric, and felt nothing. Harry smiled at him. "Wait." George stopped his hand as Harry stretched his neck to kiss him roughly. "There you go."

George's hand moved again and this time he felt Harry's cock, stiffening quickly in his shorts. He touched the burgeoning erection slowly, running his fingers over it and then his palm.

"Shouldn't leave without leveling the playing field," he told Harry, whose eyes drifted shut. He leaned forward and kissed the younger boy, who responded enthusiastically. With a twist of his wrist, he carefully tugged Harry's underwear down to his thighs.

"I thought you were angry with me," Harry moaned as the hand wrapped around his dick.

"How many times you talk me out of leaving today?"

"Nnnngmore times than you're letting on?" Harry's arms tightened as George began stroking him evenly.

"Maybe."

"If you really wanted to leave you'd be gone by n–" Harry cut himself off as he thrust his cock into George's fist. Breathlessly, he finished, "By now."

"Do you like this?" George asked him in the smallest voice he'd ever heard out of his own mouth.

"Oh fuck yes," Harry panted. His face was flushed unevenly, and his glasses went askew on his face. George reached up a hand and slid them off, putting them on the pillow next to his head.

He looked back down at the younger boy. Harry's eyes were almost closed all the way, like he was struggling to stay awake, and his lips were parted, shaking as he took deep and ragged breaths.

Something inside of George stirred, and he leaned in to kiss Harry clumsily. He could feel his dick waking up sluggishly as Harry groaned against his lips.

"Do you like it when my cock is in your ass?" he murmured.

"Yes," Harry breathed, closing his eyes all the way.

"Do you like it when it's in your mouth?"

"God, yes." Harry's hands grabbed George's shoulders and dug his fingers in.

"I want to fuck you," George moaned softly, gripping Harry tighter. The younger boy whimpered. "I want to stick it so deep in you and watch you cum all over yourself, so it's all over your stomach and chest."

"Please," Harry groaned, his hips working in opposition to George's hand.

"Say my name," George growled.

"I… I… NNNGG, Gin… G… GOD Fred _please_!"

When Harry's semen spilled onto George's hand, he was trembling and his fingernails were embedded in George's skin. The cum dripped from George' hand to the bed sheets, and he quickly pulled his hand out to wipe it on the side of the mattress.

"You…" Harry was crimson and struggling for breath.

"Had better calm down first," George said, watching the younger boy.

He did not want to think too hard about what Harry had called out when he climaxed.

Harry relaxed his fingers and George pulled their bodies closer together. Willingly, Harry moved, then pushed George onto his back and curled against him. He placed his head on the pale, freckled chest and sighed deeply.

A little uncomfortable with the familiarity, George brought his hand up to Harry's head to stroke at the dark hair. Harry's sharp breaths at his collarbone sent shivers down his spine.

"You're shaking," George commented.

"Fuck, Ginger," Harry whispered and laughed weakly.

He liked the way Harry sounded, pleased, exhausted, warm, and intimate.

There was a gentle throbbing coming from his cock, pleading with him to touch Harry again, to kiss him, climb atop him and screw him.

Instead, he lay still and felt the rise and fall of Harry's chest, the thudding of his heart against his ribs, and the dampness of his hairline. His eyes closed and he inhaled deeply.

"You've wood," Harry noted softly. His hand began to creep between the sheets. George grabbed his wrist and stopped him. He opened his eyes and kissed Harry's palm before laying it on his chest. "Not going to let me fool around?"

"Next time."

His cock ached gently as he felt Harry smile against his chest and echo, "Next time."


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: This chapter may get weird, and make some people uncomfortable. It's graphic at the very least. I may lose readers. I may meet aliens. I may win a scientific grant to find the cure for Parkinson's (I've been working on this for some time, and I've come up with a hypothesis that involves adorable kittens).

Despite all of these things, I am fond of this chapter anyway. Mostly because I wrote it and I am highly egotistical.

Nah, I'm foolin'. I like it cuz there's smut.

This chapter is dedicated to someone who will probably never read this story. But all the same, Omar, you rock my world. Keep on keepin' on.

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Part Five

"I wanna play a game," Harry said.

George shut the door behind him and shrugged. He had not expected Harry to jump so immediately into a conversation. It made him a little nervous.

One month this time.

Thirty days that he'd been able to get out of bed and function and feel like a bloody zombie, and… No, not like a zombie. Zombies don't feel sodding lonely. They don't think about buggering their brother's boyfriend. And yesterday he'd woken up, ready to be a zombie, but he just couldn't. It was too hard and even if he'd wanted to do it, he couldn't anymore.

He'd gone on a few dates over the last month. Hadn't even bothered trying to make a move on them, though. One girl had kissed him, and it was alright, but more like kissing Ginny than a real girl. Wasn't worth the trouble it had taken him to get out of bed and get dressed. Honestly, though, not liking the girls he was seeing was the least of his worries. He was a bit more preoccupied with the notion that if he didn't go back to normal fairly soon, people might start talking about how George Weasley was losing his touch.

It wasn't like he needed to be here, anyway. He could go get any girl he wanted to. He just didn't feel like it. He was temporarily bored of girls, and was going through a phase. In another month, he'd be sick of seeing Harry naked.

Harry smirked and said, "Call me Father Stevens."

"Father Stevens," George repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"And I'll call you Sufjan."

George considered it for a moment. Harry's shirt was unbuttoned, and he was sitting on the chair, one leg over an arm, the other sprawled out into the middle of the room.

"Bit old for games."

"Not that kind of game." Harry stretched his arms and arched his back over the armrest. George's eyes traveled down Harry's chest to his stomach. The firelight flickered over his ribs.

He wasn't really sure why he'd returned.

"How do I play?" he asked, dropping his books to the floor.

Fred was gone at any rate. He'd told Harry to meet him in the secret room, but at the last minute made plans with Lee to go in to Hogsmeade and make trouble. He'd written a note for Harry, although he'd told George it was for some Hufflepuff girl he'd met the night before, then gone off to the Owl Conservatory to deliver it. Fifteen minutes later, George found it surprisingly easy to find Hedwig and untie the note before she delivered it to the Dining Hall.

Owls were much stupider than people gave them credit for.

"Well, I'm a priest," Harry told him, lifting his head back up. "I'm much older than you are…" George rolled his eyes, "…I'm fit…" a derisive snort, "And I'm wise to the ways of the wicked world."

"And me?" George looked down at him, making sure Harry saw the skepticism on his face. He wasn't entirely sure this was a game he was going to enjoy.

"You're a choir boy." Harry reached up and his fingers grasped in the air at George's tie. George stepped closer. "You're very confused. You've come to me for help. You've got to get down on your knees to ask." He snagged the tie and tugged lightly.

When George knelt, Harry undid the tie.

"Will you help me, Father Stevens?" George asked, with a wry smile.

"That's not how you begin, Sufjan," Harry reprimanded. "This is a confessional in the house of God."

"Forgive me, Father, it's been five-thousand nine-hundred and forty-eight and a half days since my last confession."

"That's a long time, Sufjan."

"Well I've had a lot of housework to catch up on."

"Sufjan, you've got to take this seriously, your mortal soul is in peril here." Harry frowned at him, and George hid a smile. "Why have you come here today?"

"I need your help," George said, and Harry sat forward. "I'm very confused."

"What are you confused about, my child?" Harry straightened his spine to gain more height on George.

George paused. He wasn't really sure how Harry expected this to play out. He gave Harry a helpless look.

"Let me take a guess. You're lost." George nodded. "You don't know who you are anymore." George nodded again. "You've thoughts that don't feel like your own."

"How do you–" George was startled. Just a game, he had to remember.

"You find yourself doing things and thinking thoughts that are so wrong but you can't stop. But that's okay, isn't it? Because you don't want to."

Harry did not look away from George's intense, bewildered stare. There was a long pause as George said nothing, trying to figure out where Harry had gotten this information.

Suddenly Harry smiled beatifically and broke the tension.

"Am I right, Sufjan?"

Nodding slowly, George did not let any of his emotion show on his face.

"I want you to be honest with me," Harry said, putting his hands on George's shoulders innocently. "Have you ever been with a man?"

"I don't understand, Father," George said, forcing his mind to recall that this was just a game.

"I'm asking if you've had sex with another man."

"I…" George swallowed. No, no it was sex with _Harry_, not with a man. There was a difference. But this was a game, not reality. Again, there was a difference. "Twice. With a mate."

"That's a boy," Harry said, leaning in toward George. "I asked if you'd been with a _man_."

"No, Father," George said, and widened his eyes, playfully shocked. "Never."

"This other boy," Harry went on, running his hands over George's shoulders. "What did he do to you?"

"He… touched me." George felt his dick stir pleasantly. "And I… I got so excited."

"Did you get an erection?" Harry's hands stroked down George's chest.

"Yes, Father." George's breath was short and quick as Harry leaned in closer so that their faces were inches apart. "What are you doing, Father Stevens?"

"You liked him touching you, didn't you?" Harry asked. His palms pressed against George's nipples and rubbed at them through the shirt.

"It was an accident," George blurted, and suddenly he wasn't forcing the words out of his mouth; they were coming on their own. "I didn't mean to, it just happened."

"Did he put your prick in his mouth?" Harry undid the top button of George's shirt. "Did he put it in his arse, Sufjan?"

"I… I can't say it." It was true, he couldn't even say the words aloud, as if they would become too true and real.

"You want to know why, don't you?" Harry ran his fingers down his throat before returning to the shirt. "Why it felt so good, and so right. I can show you. Is that why you came here?"

"I haven't any idea why I came here," George admitted, and his arms went rigid as Harry's fingers brushed against the skin of his chest and undid another button.

"You came here because you got a taste of something you liked." Harry undid another button, and George's dick swelled bigger. "And now you want more of it."

"I shouldn't've come." The fear in George's voice was not pretend, and neither was the sentiment.

"I can take your sins away," Harry whispered, and moved their faces so close together that their noses were side by side. "I can absolve your soul. I can make you feel like no one's ever made you feel before."

"I don't understand," George murmured. He pulled his face back a few inches. The grip on his shirt was firm though, so he could not move too far away. Harry continued to undo the buttons and lowered his face to look at them. "Father Stevens, why are you unbuttoning my shirt?" It was difficult to remember call Harry the name.

"Have you an erection now, Sufjan?" Harry lifted his eyes, but kept his face down, so that he was staring at George through his eyelashes.

Mutely, George looked down between their bodies, then back up at Harry.

His shirt fell open and Harry's fingers traveled up the exposed skin.

"Yeah." Guilt coursed through him; he wasn't acting at all, simply confessing the truth now.

"Do you know why?" Harry's fingers slid the shirt down off his shoulders, but George did not have the wherewithal to remove his arms from the sleeves and let it fall to the floor.

All he could do was shake his head.

"It's because you like cock."

George's face went red.

"I know boys like you," Harry went on, watching George closely. "Always teasing and flirting. Always keeping other boys at a distance because you're afraid of what you might feel if they get too close."

"Maybe." George did not say what he was thinking, which was that he never flirted or teased boys. He didn't feel anything when they got too close, it was ridiculous. This wasn't George, it was the choirboy. It was the game.

He wondered if he should tell Harry he was bored of it so that he wouldn't have to play any longer. But it would be a lie, one that he did not particularly care to tell.

"What's wrong, Sufjan? Are you not sure?"

George thought for a moment. "I'm afraid of what it means about me."

"And that is?" Harry traced his fingers around George's ribs before trailing them down to his waist.

"That I'm queer." Not himself, of course. Sufjan. Sufjan was afraid he was queer.

"Aren't we all a little queer?" Harry asked, a small wicked grin on his face. He moved close in to George so that their faces were an inch apart. "Do you want me to touch your dick, Sufjan?"

"You won't tell anyone?" George asked, knitting his brow. "Not my mum. Or my dad."

"I won't even tell your brother," Harry breathed. "I'm going to make you feel so good."

George closed his eyes and exhaled as Harry's palm pressed against his cock through the cloth. He rolled his hips forward so that his erection rubbed against the hand.

"You want it so bad," Harry said lowly. "Playing hard to get, but you're just a little slag, aren't you?"

"I'm not," George said desperately, and pulled away from Harry quickly.

But Harry was quicker and got to his feet, startling the older boy, who fell onto his rear and scrambled up to his feet. Jumping backwards, he found his legs bumping into the bed. The younger boy strode to him and pushed him onto his back on the bed.

George was tempted to point out that at nearly a head taller, several years older, and several densely-muscled pounds heavier, he could throw Harry across the room and not bat an eye. But he didn't.

"No, of course you're not," Harry said, crawling onto the bed to hover over George. "But I had to make sure." His hand moved to George's crotch again and he unzipped the fly.

"Don't just do that," George protested nervously. The hand stopped and Harry looked at him expectantly. "Kiss me."

Their lips met for a quick second as Harry bent forward and pecked a kiss. George grabbed his shirt and pulled him down, holding him there to softly brush their mouths together. He sucked Harry's lower lip into his mouth and then sealed their mouths, thrusting his tongue against Harry's.

By the time their kiss broke, Harry was panting.

"It's my turn," he whispered.

Oh fuck no.

George could feel the color draining from his face.

He could run for it, right now. Just stand up and go.

"Are you sure? I think it's my turn," he said. It took most of his energy to keep his face placid.

Harry said nothing, kissing George's throat.

"I… I think maybe it's time for me to go," George said, sitting up a little.

"We're just getting started," Harry said firmly, pushing him back down to the bed.

George reminded himself that if wanted to, he could overtake Harry.

"I…"

"Sufjan, you look so tense. How can I help you relax?" Harry lowered his body and moved one of his legs between George's. The leg began to rub at George's cock, and the older boy closed his eyes, parted his lips, and moaned lightly. "Like that?"

"H-Harry, I –"

"Father Stevens," Harry corrected him.

"Father Stevens, I –"

"I want to feel you," Harry whispered into George's throat. George stopped speaking. "I want to touch you. I want you. All of you."

A hand edged between them and undid George's pants. George made a soft noise as Harry moved his face to his chest and began kissing it. His mouth found George's left nipple and began sucking at it, tongue flicking it back and forth.

And then before George could stop him, Harry was pulling his pants and underwear down and lying between his legs, tossing his wand onto the bed. George struggled to sit up, but Harry's lips were on his dick and his brain stopped working.

The lips lifted for a moment to whisper, "_Lubridado_."

"Wait wait wait," George said desperately as the younger boy waved his wand and tapped his own hand. Harry lifted his face to look up at him. "I don't know how to… I mean… I'm not ready, and –"

There was a wry smile on Harry's face.

"If you're scared, just say so, Sufjan."

George stopped and stared at him. Scared? That was just stupid. He didn't get scared of boys, or of pain, or even awkward moments, and he had a Quidditch record and list of girlfriends to prove it.

"Who's scared?" he retorted. Their eyes were locked for a few seconds before George said, "Well?"

Harry shrugged and bent his head back down to lick George's cock. His hand slipped between the older boy's legs and George's insides recoiled in terror. The fingers slid between his ass cheeks. He couldn't even feel the mouth on his dick anymore, he was so petrified.

The fingers found his anus and began pressing lightly against it, massaging in a circle without pushing inside.

Ah.

George reasoned that maybe it wasn't as bad as it had seemed. In fact, the pressure, combined with Harry's oral ministrations on his dick, were leading to another thirty second blowjob.

He realized he was whimpering, and his feet began to tremble.

"N-no!" He twisted his hips to try and get away from the sensations.

His mind was screaming at him to wait, to not suffer another unsatisfactory and embarrassing orgasm. His cock, on the other hand, was trying to drive itself into Harry's mouth, and his ass was, to his surprise, begging for the finger to twist into him.

When it did though, it did not feel as nice as his body had been telling him it would. The finger left him feeling vulnerable and uncomfortable; the seductive massaging was gone, and while there was no pain, it was enough very evident that Harry's finger was an unwelcome foreign object. It was lessened by the gentle suction on his cock, but not enough.

George twisted his fists into the sheets of the bed.

God, he did not want to be here. He should have left when Harry began insisting it was his turn to be on top.

The slick finger pushed deeper into him and when it wiggled slightly, George tensed. It curled and his body went completely stiff, muscles clamping down on Harry's finger.

"You know you've got to relax, mate," Harry said softly, taking his mouth off George's erection. Swiftly George nodded and tried to calm his body. He managed to take a deep breath and unclench his muscles.

Harry put his mouth back on the erection and swallowed it down to the root as he pushed his finger all the way into George's anus.

A grunt escaped from George, and he could feel his fingernails digging half circles into his palms. Harry's other hand stroked his hip gently as his finger worked, moving as if it were searching for something inside of him.

"Father Stevens, I don't like this," George whispered. It was easier to admit the unpleasantness if he stayed in character.

"Trust me," was Harry's only reply.

Fucking git.

The finger brushed against something inside of George and he made a surprised noise. Harry seemed to notice, because he repeated the movement. George's ass clamped down and his back arched.

"Ohhhh god," he moaned, and he could feel his balls ramping up to spew hot cum down Harry's throat again. Harry's tongue rubbed rough and raw against the underside of his cock and it made his shoulders jerk in and forward.

He moaned again and the orgasm ripped through him, throbbing wildly where the finger was inside of him. Harry was prepared this time, and George could feel his throat muscles tug at the head of his dick as they swallowed his semen.

Then George felt, rather than saw Harry sit up on the bed. He opened his eyes in time to see Harry touching his own cock, spreading the lubricant from his hand onto it. His pants were around his hips, and after he'd finished, threw both of their clothes onto the floor.

He moved back to his original position above George, who was flushed and determined not to show the terror he most certainly felt. Harry pulled his legs up and coaxed his hips so they tilted toward the ceiling.

"You ready, Sufjan?" Harry asked him.

"I don't know," George admitted, holding Harry's gaze. It was a challenge; would he back down and admit that he didn't want to get fucked or would he suck it up and let Harry shag him? He didn't know if Harry knew how much meaning their stare held.

He could feel Harry's dick move into position at his anus. He could also feel his feet cramp up in panic as Harry looked down at him. Harry's jaw set and he lifted his chin as he guided himself into George's ass.

They both sharply inhaled, but Harry's eyes closed blissfully as George's watered in discomfort. Harry began pushing his hips forward, and George tried to say nothing as the discomfort turned into a dull pain.

He hadn't realized his eyes were closed until he heard Harry speaking and responded by opening his eyes.

"Sufjan, you have to tell me what to do. I don't want to hurt you. Tell me how fast to go. Talk to me."

George released the sheets and opened his mouth.

"Please… stop…" he ground out. "Slower…"

Harry stopped his forward motion and held perfectly still. He looked down at George with eyes that were changing from black to green and back with the flicker of the firelight. George closed his eyes again and tried to regain some sort of dignity. He could feel Harry's fingers brushing over his cheek gently and rhythmically.

"I wasn't sure if I should come here today," George whispered. Harry's fingers stopped moving. "I was afraid. I'm trying to stop being like this."

"Don't stop," Harry breathed, and pushed into George a little farther. George winced and tried to relax his body. His lower body complained at him as he unclenched his muscles.

"I didn't think you'd want to see me."

"God, I always want t'see you." Harry's voice was thick and heavy, his words slurred with the pleasure he was feeling from being buried in George.

"This is just a phase," George breathed desperately, and his eyes burned slightly when Harry pushed in another inch.

"Such a good phase though, innit?" Harry moaned softly. His cock flexed inside of George, and the older boy cringed, disliking the sensation.

"I can't do anymore," George growled, and he grabbed Harry's shoulders in an attempt to stop him from moving. "Don't push any further."

"I'm all the way in already." Harry's lips moved to his throat.

George felt silly, realizing that Harry's hips were flush against his ass. When Harry began sucking on his throat, he made a small noise and tried to shift, but it was too uncomfortable.

"Relax," Harry told him. "Just lie still a minute, Sufjan." He kissed the older boy and moved one hand to toy with his nipple. George did not kiss back, it took too effort to do anything other than think about the discomfort. "C'mon, choir boy," Harry murmured. "Get your mind off it, yeah?"

Reluctantly, George kissed him.

"I want you to get hard again," Harry said with the firmest look he could muster. "I wanna make you cum all over yourself."

"Father Stevens!" George had to laugh softly at Harry's expression. "You're a filthy old bugger, aren't you?"

"You've no idea," Harry said loftily, and George realized that his hips were rocking against him ever so slightly. It took another moment for him to realize the cock inside of him was moving in and out of him, an inch at a time.

The pressure of Harry's dick was rubbing against that something inside of him. It sent a jolt of tickling through him and he nearly jumped up. Instead, he squirmed and looked startled.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, and then closed his eyes when his body betrayed him again. It was uncomfortable, but the shove of pleasant stimulation blended with it.

"You couldn't figure out why that boy enjoyed it, could you?" Harry breathed, and George had to admit that, no, he had not figured out why Harry had liked getting fucked so much. He did not want to say it though, and Harry, in retaliation, slammed his dick into the older boy's ass roughly and swiftly.

George winced and closed his eyes. "Stop, wait…" he groaned agonizingly. "You're too big."

"Mr. Funny," Harry grumbled, sounding incredibly disgruntled. But he returned to the slow and gentle inch deep thrusts and nosed George's ear. His quick short breaths made George shiver and lift his shoulder reactively.

"I can't do this, it's too much," George pleaded. It was difficult trying to ignore the soft sensations speaking to his dick through his prostate, and combined with the pain, his brain was getting a little cloudy.

"Yeah, hilarious," Harry replied, shaking his head. "You remember everything I said the first time we shagged or just the stuff I said that made me look like a git?"

Weakly, George shook his head as the pleasant feeling continued to wash through him. He could not speak, afraid he would whimper if he opened his mouth. Harry became bolder with the strokes of his cock, and he started to sit up.

"No," George said, gripping Harry's shoulders tightly. He opened his eyes to see Harry reaching for his legs.

"Better angle up here," Harry reasoned, but George shook his head emphatically. Patiently, Harry lay back down on top of George and kissed him. "Not that great anyway."

He thrust harder into George, and the older boy gasped sharply and dug his fingers into Harry. He pulled Harry to himself and clung to him for dear life.

"You hard again?" Harry panted, hips keeping a steady and slow rhythm. He managed to squirm one hand between their bodies to feel at George's semi-stiff dick.

"How are you doing this?" George asked, gasping softly when Harry's hand stroked at him.

"Power of Christ compels me," Harry retorted, but George could not laugh.

"Nothing ever feels right anymore," George whispered, eyes closed. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I can't do anything anymore without thinking about what we did."

Harry fucked George harder now, thrusting so roughly that the bed squeaked and thumped against the wall. George's legs had found their way to Harry's hips, and were wrapped around him tightly, his arms still hugging Harry against his chest.

"This feel right?" Harry grunted.

"It doesn't feel wrong." George writhed as Harry's hand continued to yank at him and his cock continued to ram into him.

"Then keep doing it, I don't want to stop." Harry sounded almost faint.

And even with the gauzy film of sex hanging in their heads, George was glad Harry was pleased. The pleasured heat was building inside of George and he was losing his ability to care about anything other than the hot tickling spot inside of him and Harry's hand on his prick.

"I don't… wanna do anything… other than fuck you… ever again," Harry panted, and George made a low noise in the back of his throat. His eyes fluttered open to see Harry's face, cheeks red, teeth gritted, eyes squeezed shut tightly.

"Harry." Harry's eyes opened and looked down at him. "Are we still playing the game?"

They stared at each other in silence, breath fast and uneven. George felt afraid suddenly. He'd been speaking so freely, pretending to be Fred pretending to be a choir boy. What if Harry could tell he wasn't pretending at all?

"'S it matter?" Harry whispered. "If you said all those things 'n' they're true, I don't care, you're here is what counts."

George felt a twinge of guilt inside of himself, and a stab of sorrow and a great void of loneliness. His arms tightened on Harry and the younger boy took it to mean George was getting close to completion.

"Do it harder," George mumbled, the phrase all too feminine for him. But when Harry complied, the intense pleasure that accompanied it washed away all the embarrassment. The grip of his legs on Harry's hips shifted up to his waist as he raised his hips to be closer to the pounding energy.

"Ginger boy, moan for me." Harry's breath was hot on his ear.

The words ripped a small noise from George's throat. It became louder as Harry sucked his earlobe into his mouth.

"This… is so good…" he gasped as Harry's hand renewed its vigor in pumping on his prick. "I… Harry… I'm gonna cum…"

"Talk dirty to me," Harry begged into his skin.

"I can't." George was trying to focus on reaching a climax and speaking was making him go manic with frustration. "Your cock. It's too deep. I can't… it's too good. I want to… Please, please, please." He was rambling again, unintentionally, he couldn't remember what he was saying as it left his mouth. "Fuck me, God, Harry, fuck me so hard, I need it, I need more, I need you inside me more, harder, faster." Harry was obeying his words, vigorously thrusting into the older boy.

And then the room was exploding apart, falling to pieces and he was so alone, but completely connected, and everything was closing in on him and then swooping away, leaving him breathless and aching and throbbing and damp and tingling.

The hand on his cock slowed and stopped, and Harry continued to hump him swiftly for a few seconds before growling fiercely, like a wounded animal.

He collapsed atop George and they lay still on the bed, panting and sweating on one another.

And George wanted so bloody much to tell Harry the truth. It was in his mouth, on the tip of his tongue, pleading to be said, that he wasn't Fred, that he was afraid, that he'd never felt so good, that he didn't want to leave, please, don't make him leave, he couldn't handle being without him any longer.

"How's it?" Harry asked breathlessly.

"Amazing," George admitted. The confession began to sink back down into his heart. He knew better than to hurt Harry and himself like that, even if he didn't know well enough to stop his lying. "You?"

"Fantasmic," Harry exhaled. "That was fantastically different."

George raised an eyebrow and Harry's face split into a huge grin.

"Different's good, Ginger. I like different." He propped himself up on one arm and used the other to tug himself out of George. "Buggering you is the best thing I've done all week."

"Pervert."

"Your fault, coming in here dressed like that," Harry retorted.

"My school robes?" George asked, closing his eyes and putting on a disbelieving air.

"Provocative's what it is," Harry told him. "Some sort of Catholic school boy or something."

"What's a Catholic school boy?" George asked, opening his eyes again.

"Just asking to be shagged rotten."

George rolled his eyes. "You're spending too much time with me," he told Harry with a small grin.

"I'm not spending enough time with you." Harry's tone was suddenly serious and went quiet. "I want to see more of you."

"I'm doing the best I can," George said gently. It was mildly uncomfortable speaking to Harry like this. He wondered if Fred was so gentle with him. Harry nodded and pursed his lips lightly.

Hoping to break the spell of intimacy that was entering into the room, George slipped from under Harry's arm. He could feel the discomfort in the lower half of his body. It did not hurt, but it felt distinctly as if he were in need of a toilet.

The sensation was awkward, even if Harry could not tell how his body felt, and George rolled onto his side so he could try and get a hold on himself. The physical discomfort and emotional distress were starting to build up inside of him. He swallowed as if trying to force the feelings deeper inside himself.

"I know you are," Harry said quietly. There was a long silence. "Ginger? You alright?"

"Yeah, fine," George said, and brought one hand up to his head to rub at his scalp tiredly.

"I don't like it when you hide from me." Harry's voice was soft and urging. It had been a long time since George had wanted to start crying without a good solid reason (such as nearly murdering his twin brother).

"I'm not hiding," George whispered. He felt Harry's body spoon against his. Harry's face did not reach his head when they lay like this, but he could feel the younger boy's nose against the base of his neck.

"You didn't like it." Harry's voice was completely dejected, and George closed his eyes.

"I liked it."

"Then look at me."

George did not want to roll over. He did not want to see Harry looking at him with those dark curious eyes, did not want to see his face flushed from sex, did not want to hear him say anything else that would make it worse.

He didn't even know what 'it' was. All he knew was that what they were doing was not sitting well with him in any way shape or form anymore. Maybe it was too much now, maybe it wasn't enough now, he didn't know, and not knowing made him sick.

"C'mon, Ginger, I don't wanna stare at your back." Harry was using the pleading voice, and it made George hurt all over to hear it.

He rolled onto his back and looked at the ceiling.

"There," he said softly.

Harry moved closer to him and put a hand on his chest.

"You upset with me?"

George shook his head and tried to smile at Harry. He could say nothing.

"You upset with someone else?"

Again, George shook his head briskly. He tried to say something, Christ, anything, and it just wouldn't come.

"You upset about what we did?"

George opened his mouth, intending to tell him that he was fine, to stop asking questions. Instead, a small choking noise came from his throat and his eyes went red.

"I won't do it again," Harry said quickly. "I promise. I'm shit at all this, I thought a game'd be fun, I didn't want to upset you, I…"

Suddenly George could feel hot tears on his face, and he quickly brought a hand up to cover his eyes. He grit his teeth and moaned under his breath. He managed to tell Harry to stop before taking a deep shuddering breath.

"I'm fine."

"Bollocks, you're fine," Harry said, a little angry now. His tone made a few more tears slide down George's face. "You're… I mean…"

"No more games," George whispered.

"Never again."

"No more pretending."

"No more," Harry agreed. "None at all. We won't pretend at all. Neither of us."

"Okay." George's voice was soft. He felt Harry's lips press against his temple.

"I'm in love with you," Harry whispered.

Maybe that was what was wrong. Maybe he could tell Harry was in love with him. Or maybe it was something else that had nothing to do with Harry's feelings for him. God, he didn't fucking know what was wrong with him.

It made him feel a little wild for a moment after hearing it though, and he had to moan miserably again, bringing both hands up to his face. His stomach wrenched in on itself.

"Ginger?" Harry sounded confused. "I'm sorry, I…"

"I need to go," George mumbled abruptly, throwing the sheets off and stumbling to his feet. He grabbed his clothes and began dressing swiftly. He was still crying, and he couldn't stop, and he couldn't let Harry see any more of it. "I've got, I've got…" He let out a mangled sob and was jamming his feet in his shoes, holding his shirt closed with one hand, moving for the door. "Got to go and…"

"Please, wait," Harry said, sounding truly upset. "Just listen for a minute." He was getting to his feet, grabbing a sheet around his waist and darting between George and the door. "I didn't mean it, alright?"

George made a strangled noise and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes sockets to try and snap himself out of it and hide the tears at the same time. He turned from Harry.

"I just wanted to stop pretending I'm not. You don't have to say anything back. Okay? It's just stupid little Harry. I'm just a kid, what do I know, yeah? Don't know love from chips and vinegar, do I? S'all the same to me."

George slowly crouched on the floor and inhaled deeply, trying to calm down. He could feel Harry keeping his distance, could feel the uncertainty and fear in the room.

"I don't think you're stupid," he said in a low, uneven voice. "And I don't think you're a kid."

Harry moved closer to him and George could hear him kneel, breath not too far from his head.

"Thanks."

"I… I need to go though."

There was a long silence.

"Yeah, alright." Harry sounded completely broken-hearted, and George felt something inside of him tighten rebelliously.

Neither of them spoke or moved for a long minute.

"You're the first person ever said that to me," George mumbled, referring to Harry's confession of love. He was glad he could not see Harry. "I'm going to go."

"When will I see you again?" Harry asked desperately.

"You see me every day," George said swiftly and got to his feet.

"That's not what I meant." Harry sounded awkward and unhappy.

"I know." George headed for the door. "You'll see me when you see me." He roughly dragged his sleeve over his face and left.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Okay, so now I feel guilty, because this is a tiny chapter compared to the last, and it's _dramatic_, but in a different kind of way. Just stick with me; I try to keep the not-so-thrilling parts short. Plus I'll post some more later in the week.

In other news: I know you guys keep pretending you don't like me, but I can't help but notice no one has told me to eat shit and die! Ha! You can't fool me!

A bit about this chapter: I love this part. Even though there's no smut, I included it for a reason, and that reason is… I have a really, really huge ego. I love the sound (or look) of my own (writer's) voice. Also, in case you couldn't tell, I love the Weasley twins. And not just when they're undressed. My love is greater than that. But not by much.

___________________________

Part Six

George was in the middle of Quidditch practice when he realized it.

He and Fred had been weaving around a Bludger, sticks in hand, when Harry had shown up, late. He'd looked down at the boy, and was filled with an excited, buzzing nervousness. He didn't really recognize the feeling, but it took him less than a second to figure out exactly what it was.

That's when it had happened.

One moment he'd been on his broom, staring at Harry, sure his brother was watching the Bludger, and the next, he'd been on the grass, blinking.

His head was pounding and there was a scream from the air, and GOD the fucking pain in his sodding head was so horrible it felt like the Bludger had gotten inside his skull and was bouncing around and all he could see was blue.

He tried to croak something out, and something dark and blurry appeared in the corner of his vision. He could hear someone speaking to him as if from a great distance.

"George. Can you hear me? George? Say something." The voice was familiar except when it said his name. There was something gripping his wrist and holding his shoulder. They were hands, he was fairly certain.

"Oi." It was Fred's voice, sounding extremely annoyed.

"Grow up, Fred." Harry. It was Harry's hands on his arm. Harry, who was sounding even more annoyed than Fred. The grip tightened, and another blur appeared in his vision. Instinctively, he knew it was his twin.

"Get off my brother then, how about?" Fred snapped and Harry released George. The other blur moved away, and it dawned on him that the blue was the sky. He was lying on his back, looking at the sky, and he could see his brother and Harry and… Shit, his head hurt so badly.

"He's bleeding all over the sodding grass Fred, I wasn't–"

"Is he awake?" Alison's voice. Coming up behind them sounding incredibly worried. Everything was so bright, so painful. Squinting made the pain worse.

"I –" George tried to speak, but his jaw seemed to be made of cement.

"He's in pain." Fred sounded upset. "His jaw's broken." George lifted a hand. His throat was suddenly stiff and dry and it was all he could feel. "He needs something to drink." There was a pause as no one moved. George realized Fred was about to lose it and waved his hand insistently, trying to stop his twin right before he yelled, "GET HIM SOME BLOODY WATER!"

"Fred." It was Alison again, issuing a sharp warning.

George reached out for his twin, who grabbed his hand. His vision began to clear, and he could see his own face looking angry and scared above him. Not his own face, but Fred's; with his eyes that were usually narrowed in thought, his freckles that were lighter from less time in the sun, and the deeper laugh lines around his mouth. He knew what to look for, but the differences were so subtle most people did not think to look for them.

"Where's Madame Pomfrey?!" Fred's voice was wild. George squeezed his hand, and he felt Fred relax. His fingers were still gripping George's tightly, though, almost painfully.

George blinked and tried to look around. His vision was trembling, and it hurt to roll his eyeballs. Fred was kneeling over him, and Harry was off to one side, watching them both. Oliver was standing next to Harry, and he could see the rest of the team gathered around.

"You're going to be okay." George could tell that Fred was lying. Not a lie in that he was not going to be okay, but that Fred didn't really know what was going to happen at all.

George rubbed his thumb against his twin's hand comfortingly, and Fred nodded. He took a deep breath and sat down.

"Water with a broken jaw probably isn't a good idea," Fred mumbled and George made a small choked laughing sound. It brought his attention to the metallic taste in his mouth and he tilted his face to one side to spit out the liquid pooling in the back of his throat. "See, you prat?"

Fred put his other hand on George's forehead and gently brushed his hair back. Out of the corner of his fuzzy vision, George could see Harry looking away. The hand move to shade his eyes, and his vision grew a little clearer once it was shielded from the sunlight.

"Thirsty." George garbled. He could not even move his jaw to speak, and there was so much liquid in his mouth that it sounded as if he were gargling.

"Yeah, well you can wait," Fred said patiently. "Spit out the blood again, it's spilling down your chin."

Blood? He spat again, although really it was more of drooling because he could not force his left cheek to spit. Indeed, his saliva was bright red. Huh. Hadn't realized he was bleeding. He squeezed Fred's hand.

"Not so bad as it looks." Fred sounded incredibly reassuring, and George blinked slowly. "Don't be such a kid. She's on her way."

They locked eyes and George could see on Fred's face how much blood he was losing. George wanted to smile at Fred, let him know he was really okay, but the muscles on his face seemed to be frozen despite his efforts.

"Quit trying that," Fred told him sharply. "I know you're fine. You're gonna make it worse."

"Nng." George's eyes narrowed at him.

"I'll do what I want, I'm not the wanker got hit by a Bludger," Fred retorted. "Spit."

George turned his face again toward the grass and used his tongue to push the saliva from his mouth. He felt the hot liquid slide down his cheek slowly. Fred's hand was in his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping it off his face before shading his eyes again.

Madame Pomfrey appeared a few moments later and quickly healed the bone in George's jaw and was helping him sit up a moment later. She clucked at him to be more careful, complaining to no one in particular about how ridiculously dangerous it was to have adolescent children and their easily distracted hormones around flying death balls.

In addition to the broken jaw, he had a concussion, one of his teeth was barely in his gum, and there were two large gashes in the side of his head and inside of his cheek. Madame Pomfrey healed him speedily, her talk continuing on how much trouble most of the Weasley boys were always getting in to, and how she couldn't wait for them to graduate so she never had to heal another broken bone again.

Fred did not let go of George's hand the whole time.

A few minutes later, his eyes undilated, sitting up in the sun, he could not remember getting hit by the Bludger, or anything else afterwards. But he did remember one thing.

He remembered the fluttering in his chest when he looked down at the field. And, with great reticence, he remembered his realization.

He had a crush on Harry.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: Okay, here we go. A new chapter. I love this chapter, because I love dumb skanks. Oh, how I love them.

___________________________

Part Seven

"Suki."

"Hi?"

George tilted his head and gave Suki Sebastian the dazzling smile he and Fred had practiced so often as little boys. She giggled and smiled back.

"I heard you've found yourself completely alone this Friday," he said to her with a sly look on his face.

"Fred, look luv, you're sweet but–"

"Wrong twin," he told her in a smooth voice.

"Oh, George!" She beamed at him. "Didn't fink you even knew my name."

"You kidding? They don't usually make chavs as lovely as yourself," George said charmingly and leaned toward her when she tittered, not aware of the insult embedded in the compliment. "So, Friday?"

"I fought you broke yo' jaw yesterday," she said, giving him a scrutinizing look (although even as he recognized it as scrutinizing, he also recognized that she would never know what the word meant). The girl was clearly not terribly bright.

"I got better, didn't I?" he said, flexing his jaw for her to see.

"Yo' not jus' Fred pretendin'?" she asked dubiously.

He pointed to his shirt, where he wore a name tag emblazoned with "Hi! My name is: NOT FRED." The last two words blinked in running red marquee lights.

"You sure?" she asked the shirt. It did not respond and she looked up at George.

"I'm sure I'm not Fred," George agreed.

"Then mebbe we can go to a party I heard 'bout in Hogsmede." She batted her eyes coquettishly and he smirked.

"So long's I'm your only date," he told her.

"Them tossers is long gone," she said snottily, raising her nose in the air. "Tryin' to fence me in like… like…"

"Like a great bloody cow?" he asked, saying it with his charming, dazzling, shit-eating grin.

"Exactly!" she declared, looking pleased. "You're well telekinecticut, ain't you?"

"Yeah, reckon I _am_ telekinetic," he replied, subtly correcting her. "I can already tell that you think the party is going to be brilliant and that you'll wear a hot pink miniskirt and black fishnets."

She gaped at him, and he could see a wad of gum in her mouth behind her molars when she did so. Her mouth was open so long (really it was only a few seconds, but her complete lack of movement made it seem so much longer) that he was tempted to stick his fingers into her mouth and rescue the captive gum.

"How'd you know?" she asked, clearly tickled as pink as the miniskirt.

He simply smiled mysteriously and shrugged. She had worn the same thing to another party the weekend before, and the weekend before that. And, from what he heard, the weekend before that.

"See you Friday." He picked up her hand, gently kissed the back of it, and smiled again at her.

"Lookit you all posh!" she shrieked delightedly and twisted her hips enticingly as he let go of her hand. "Guess I'll haf'to see you Friday, won't I?"

He nodded, grinned again, then turned and walked away.

He would need _such_ a huge bottle of Listerine on Saturday.

*******************************

George found Harry after lunch on the way back to the dorms. He sidled up alongside him and said nothing as they walked.

"Hiya George," Harry said, glancing at him. "Something up?"

George nodded thoughtfully for a moment. He watched as Ron scarpered after Hermione and began speaking animatedly to her. God, his little brother was a fucking twat sometimes.

"I think you ought to stay away from my brother," he said calmly, still watching Ron in front of them.

"What?" Harry demanded in disbelief, stopping walking. "Are you kidding me? He's my best mate, the first one I ever had. Who d'you think you are coming here and–"

"No, not Ron," George said, sharper than he meant it. He stopped and took a breath. "Not Ron."

Harry tilted his head and frowned. "Percy? I already spend most of my time trying to avoid him."

"I mean Fred," George informed him, irritated.

"You want me to stay away from _Fred_," Harry said slowly. He looked as if he was worried George were mildly insane.

"That's what I said."

"What, you want me to eat lunch at another table?" Harry asked, clearly insulted.

"You know what I mean, Harry," George said sharply. "I know about it."

"Know about what?" Harry asked, his face suddenly devoid of emotion.

"Look, I'm not kidding around and I'm not playing this little game any more. I think you ought to end things and just move on and forget him, alright?" George told him. "He's a right moron sometimes. He does stupid things and if you spend too much time with him, one of those stupid things is going to get you hurt."

With that, he began walking again, leaving Harry in the hallway, staring at him.

*******************************

He wasn't really sure why'd done it. Nor why he'd started dating Suki. He didn't like Suki. In fact, she annoyed the bollocks right off his body and down the corner. If there happened to be a pub on that corner, they'd probably go in there and order a pint to try and dull the pain of her voice. But he hid that fact, putting up with her grating personality; he actually publicly declared her his girlfriend, something he hadn't done in almost a year.

Suki did not try to sleep with him. She claimed that she was saving it for marriage. He didn't believe that one bit; he was actually almost certain she had some sort of STD. Probably one that oozed green pus or produced purple bumps or a terrible rash that itched until it burned. Regardless of that, it meant that she would kiss him for hours without sticking her hands in his pants (where there was never anything more interesting than underwear and ginger body hair).

She also gave him a reason to not try and visit Harry. Firstly, she took up too much time. Always blathering on about something, wanting his attention, studying with him, picking fights over what shoes she ought to wear and if a skirt made her arse look fat. It was exhausting to spend time with the girl, and afterwards all he wanted to do was lie in bed and be alone.

Secondly, while he did not really respect her (he had, after all, seen her in a hot pink miniskirt and black fishnets), he respected that she did not take up with anyone else while they dated. Therefore, he extended the same courtesy to her. It seemed like the right thing to do. Of course, he was aware that the TRULY right thing to do was to stop seeing Suki because he was one smear of lipstick on his collar away from murdering her.

Neither of these things, however, made him stop _wanting_ to see Harry. He still got that flutter whenever they ate lunch, he struggled to focus in Quidditch practice, and he had only one person in mind while wanking in his room, alone at night.

Telling Harry off had made him feel better. Like maybe he wasn't actually gay, just confused. And maybe he hadn't really enjoyed their last tryst as much as he'd thought he had.

It bothered him, though, that Fred and Harry were still carrying on. He didn't know why. Maybe it made him uncomfortable that they were gay. Maybe he was jealous that Fred got to be with Harry. Maybe he was worried that Fred would hurt Harry. Or, worse, Harry would hurt Fred.

In the end, none of it mattered. George was fucking miserable.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: The smut is back.

No, Bruce! Let me finish! It's back and I hope it never leaves again. I hope it's still enjoyable, but let's face it, you probably want Fred and George to finally figure out which one of them is the evil twin.

I certainly know I waited seven whole books to see which one of them would kill and eat the other. But guess what. Didn't happen. Oh, wait, woops. Spoiler alert.

But looking back, neither of them had a goatee. Guess that should have been my big hint.

___________________________

Part Eight

So miserable, in fact, that when he found himself with the chance, he went to visit Harry in that secret, quiet room. Casually, of course. He told himself it was to ask Harry once more to leave his brother. In the back of his mind, he was willing to acknowledge that he wanted to make sure that dumb crush on Harry was gone.

It'd been one month. Well, not really one month. Closer to six weeks.

Not that he was counting.

When Fred wrote a note to Harry canceling a meeting, George again arranged for the note to disappear. It wasn't even remotely hard, especially as Fred was getting sloppier about hiding Harry from him.

But that's not what George thought about as he stood in the hallway across from the door. It wasn't even close.

He was telling himself over and over exactly what would happen when he walked into that tiny room. Over and over until he was sure his brain and dick both got the message.

First he would open the door. He would not look at the fireplace, or the bed, or the chair, or anywhere else, simply look Harry straight in the eye. Then he would tell Harry that Fred was cheating on him with another boy. It wasn't true as far as George knew, but he wouldn't have put it past his twin. Then he would tell Harry that it would be best if he just called it quits. And then, finally, he would turn and leave.

George let out a short laugh. Of course. This was going to be easy. Why had he even been worried? He crossed the hall quickly and pulled the door open, stepped inside and closed it behind him.

Harry was standing at the fireplace looking into the flames when he walked in. He looked up at George and they stared at each other.

The words. He had to remember the words. The ones he was going to say. The ones with letters in them. The ones that formed whole sentences that…

God, Harry was just staring at him.

It made him angry.

More than angry, really, it filled him with an emotion he could not identify, other than to know that it was hot, furious, more than a little out of control, and giving him a raging hard on.

He moved toward Harry, no intent behind his purposeful stride anymore. When they were a foot from each other, he stopped.

Harry was watching him closely, and George met his green eyes confidently.

And then suddenly he was grabbing Harry and crushing his mouth in a kiss and pushing them both toward the bed. And Harry was pulling their shirts off while George was already taking his own pants off, then moving for Harry's, fumbling awkwardly with the button.

When they were down to just their underwear, Harry yanked him sharply down onto the bed. He lay down on top of Harry and began grinding their bodies together, dicks rubbing excitedly against each other.

"Ginger," Harry gasped and George sealed his mouth with a rough kiss. "Wait," he tried to say, muffled by George's tongue. His hands shoved at the freckled shoulders and he tried to scramble back on the bed.

When it became apparent that George was not going to wait, stop, slow down, or even listen to Harry, the younger boy gave up and pulled his glasses off his face and tossed them onto the chair.

George's hands were shaking and he tried to stop them by gripping Harry's wrists tightly. He pinned them above the smaller boy's head as he kissed and humped him.

"You're hurting me." Harry's words were mumbled into George's mouth and nearly lost as the older boy pushed his knees in between Harry's.

But they got their desired reaction, and George loosened his grip on Harry's wrists. He could feel his hands trembling now without something to hold on to, but Harry did not seem to notice or mind. He twined their fingers together and lifted a leg to hook behind one of George's thighs.

"Take 'em off," he moaned, bucking his clothed hips up against George's. Immediately George pulled away and yanked his boxers down, and as soon as he'd thrown them on the floor, went for Harry's.

They were almost wrestling with each other now, Harry trying to push George back enough to catch his breath and George moving closer to lick his throat and bite his shoulder.

George had him pinned again, and their pricks were rubbing hot and burning between them, scraping against wiry hair and dragging on sweating skin. Harry was moaning softly every time the skin of George's cock scrubbed down his, and the noises were making George's arms tremble with the effort.

Letting out a cry of pain, the older boy felt a violent orgasm rip down through his dick. It sent a shockwave through his body and he lost his balance over Harry and collapsed. The semen on their bodies made it easier for Harry continue to thrust his hips upward for a few seconds until he groaned and ground their cocks together as he hit his climax.

George did not get up to grab a sheet to wipes themselves off with, and Harry did not go for his wand to clean their bodies with. Instead they lay panting on the bed, not really holding each other, and not moving away.

"I… I didn't think you were coming," Harry said breathlessly. George shook his head. "I..." George lifted his head and cut him off with a not-so-gentle kiss.

When he broke it a few moments later, Harry was watching him with uncertain eyes. He wasn't sure what to say to the dark-haired boy. This had been exactly what he had not wanted to happen.

"Did I hurt you?" George asked. He still lay atop Harry, the cum between them beginning to dry like a glue to hold them together.

"It wasn't so bad." Harry smiled weakly to show he was alright and George felt immediately guilty.

"I should… go. Or something," George said, his ears turning red.

"Do you want to?" Harry asked him, bringing a hand to rest on his waist. It was a nonchalant touch, or at least he could tell Harry meant it to be that way. But it was loaded with feeling and intentions. He could feel Harry's hand tremble lightly.

"…" George opened his mouth and then closed it. He looked to where the fire was crackling and finally said, "No."

Harry smiled again, but this time it was genuine, and it made George's stomach tighten pleasantly. He put his head down onto Harry's shoulder and closed his eyes. He could feel both of Harry's hands move to his back to stroke his skin gently.

"You gonna say something or just let me lie on top of you until your legs go numb?" George asked.

"I'm fine," Harry whispered. One of his hands let go of George's back and relocated to the back of his head, fingers burying themselves in the thick red hair. "Don't go and I'll be fine."

George pushed himself up a little and looked down at Harry. It was quiet as George watched him, eyes flicking around the younger boy's face.

He didn't really know what he was looking for. A reason to stay, a reason to leave, something to explain why his insides were twisted up… He didn't even know what he would do if he found that thing. Part of him wanted to speak to Harry, ask him why he let Fred come in to the small room and do things to him.

But he said nothing, and merely pulled the edge of the sheet toward them to wipe their stomachs clean. He lifted the sheets and crawled underneath them, and Harry followed.

This time it was George who curled against Harry's body, twining their legs, slipping an arm around his waist, and laying his head on Harry's chest.

"Are we okay?" Harry whispered. George closed his eyes comfortably.

"Yeah."

"Wasn't sure there for awhile."

George felt a pang of worry. If Fred and Harry were having troubles, he would mess things up if he forgave Harry. But it was too late to take it back, too late to amend it, and not worth the trouble it would take to pick a fight and cause more problems.

"You think about talking to George?"

"Been thinking about it," George lied. "But then he went and got Suki, didn't he?"

Harry did not have a response for that. He remained silent for a long time.

"So I guess maybe he's not so gay after all," George finalized.

"No." Harry stroked George's shoulder with a loose finger. "Guess not. Glad you're not mad about it now."

"Yeah, well," George said lamely and fell silent. They were quiet for quite some time.

"Ginger."

"Yeah?" George was starting to doze off, and he jumped slightly when Harry addressed him.

"Tell me you love me."

George opened his eyes and blinked.

"What?"

"Like you did on Wednesday. Tell me again."

George swallowed. It was just words. They didn't mean anything, especially coming from him. If Fred and Harry were saying it to each other, then it was just part of the script. The script that was becoming increasingly complex, vague, and personal.

"I love you."

Just words. Three simple words strung together.

"Say it like you said it before," Harry said, and tugged on George's wrist. "Look at me. Make that face and kiss me."

George sat up. His stomach was upset as he looked down at Harry and thought of Fred. What would Fred do? What was the face? Was it the smug smirk? The sly mischievous look? The desperate longing look?

He knit his brow and then looked into Harry's eyes. Before he could stop himself, he was smiling every so slightly, ears turning pink.

"I love you, Harry." Bending down, he kissed Harry slowly, stroking their lips together repeatedly.

It wasn't that bad. A little weird, but not horrible. On the one hand, saying those three magic words always felt good. It didn't matter if it was the truth or a lie, the idea of love and trust was a cathartic and controlling one. On the other, it intensified George's guilt over betraying his brother and Harry. If he was found out, neither boy would ever trust him again.

Harry smiled at him, but did not look completely happy. He moved one hand to the side of George's head and brushed his face with his finger tips.

"Pretty ginger boy, you gotta tell me when I push too hard." Harry looked apologetic, and George shrugged and smiled, belying the confusion he was feeling. "You gonna stay?"

"For awhile," George said, and curled back down on Harry's chest. The hand on his head resumed its petting motion and George felt himself drift into an oblivion of sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: Please enjoy this. Please. I'm begging you. I'm on my knees. I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to lo… wait. No. Do-over. Just enjoy it. Silently though. I don't want to hear about it. Go tell your mom or something, I bet she cares.

No I'm just kidding. If you want to share, that's fine, as long as what you want to share isn't a communicable disease.

SPEAKING OF COMMUNICABLE DISEASES…! I'm just foolin'. There's no diseases in this story. Diseases are gross. I advocate safe sex. USE A CONDOM, KIDS. Pullin' out don't work none too good, as the entire population of [INSERT YOUR STATE HERE] will tell you.

You know what's not gross? Falling in love. It's a good thing to do occasionally. I also advocate falling in love. And kittens. I advocate those – CUZ THEY'RE CUDDLY THAT'S WHY. Why do I mention this? Because I like to write about love, and you have unfortunately found yourself reading one of my boring-ass stories about that very same subject. Sucks to be you.

___________________________

Part Nine

After that, George kept his ears open for opportunities to see Harry. It wasn't so bad, sharing a bed with Harry for a few hours. The chances he got were few and far between. Fred and Harry seemed to meet every other day without fail. Mostly he got to see Harry once a month, and sometimes only if he helped it along.

A few times he talked Lee into dragging Fred into Hogsmeade; another time he turned the water in the courtyard fountain into grape jelly and told McGonagall it had been Fred. He felt guilty when Fred went along with it… going along with the other's plot (even if they didn't know why they were doing it) was sort of an unspoken pact between them. Fred never asked him about it either; simply took the punishment and smirked at his twin as if to say that he knew somewhere, somehow, mischief was being managed.

Every time George went to meet Harry in Fred's place, he felt a thrill. Perhaps it was from the lying, from the secret of it all. But then again, maybe not. The way Harry glowed when they screwed made George's chest hurt. He looked like he was in love… not that George would really recognize that look. No one'd ever been really in love with him. Not proper love, where they knew him inside and out and liked everything that they saw.

He always remembered to tell Harry he loved him, without being prompted. Sometimes he said it without planning it, it just sort of came out. Like he'd been saying it so often, to so many people, that it was a part of his natural speech. And sometimes he said it when he was inside of Harry because it was all he could think of to say that wasn't obscene or stupid. When that happened, it was always a compulsive action, and he usually felt sick with guilt afterwards.

It wasn't like he could say it when Harry was inside of him because the younger boy hadn't topped him again. It wasn't because George insisted on it, or because it was always Fred's turn… Harry just didn't make the advances. In fact, the system of taking turns had completely dissolved, and Harry never mentioned it again. He would lie on his back and let George climb between his legs, or he'd take the initiative and straddle George's lap. Once he knelt on the bed and tried to get George to fuck him from behind.

There was something impersonal about watching the back of Harry's head while they screwed that George did not like. He wasn't gay, after all; he just really liked Harry a lot. And if Harry wasn't there, what was the point of having sex? He wouldn't want to have sex with Lee, or Neville, or any other jackass in the school. Seeing Harry's face when he came was exciting, thrilling, made it all worthwhile.

And he had to admit to himself that he'd gotten better at taking what he wanted from Harry, not letting the younger boy play teacher all the time. Or preacher, as the case may be.

But it bothered him that Harry had not claimed a turn to be the dominant one. For everything else that might be said about George Weasley, he was not a fool. The crying jag he'd had when Harry had shagged him was unforgettable (as was Harry shagging him). The fact that Harry avoided what must have seemed like a sensitive subject made George wonder if the Boy Who Lived had figured things out.

That theory made little sense, though. Harry was complicit in all of their activities and he'd continued to call the older boy by Fred's nickname (a few times he'd called him Fred outright). Besides, they'd met seven times in six months. It was unlikely that he'd so consistently choose days Harry wanted to get fucked, but not impossible.

This time, Fred was off to Hogsmeade – of his own accord – he and Lee making bets over who could pull first and best. George did not want to tell them that it would be Lee, as Fred's charms only worked within arm's length. His smile could light a Christmas tree, but Lee had dark eyes that could make a girl puddle into her high heels from across a room.

So they marched off, already describing the girls they'd bring home, and George, his body tingling with the power of his secret, made his way to the secret room. As he'd done every time, he watched the door for a few minutes before going inside.

He'd told Suki that he'd a headache that evening and wouldn't be able to go into town with her. There was another secret: he always hoped she would sleep with someone else while she was out. That she'd break down and confess, or someone would report news back to him of seeing her with another boy. Fuck, it could be Fred, he didn't care.

George steeled himself and opened the door. It wasn't as hard as it had been. But he still firmly believed that this was all a phase and sooner or later he'd get bored of kissing boys, kissing Harry more specifically, and go back to girls. That didn't change the fact that it still took him time to prepare himself for the reality of his desires and lies.

Harry was in the chair, looking extremely pensive. His face was pointed at the fire, his brow knotted and he was chewing thoughtfully on a lip. He did not react immediately when George entered.

"I think we need to talk," Harry said slowly, not looking at George.

Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit shitshitshitshit.

"About what?" George asked calmly, betraying the inner terror he was feeling.

Harry sat up quickly and turned to look at him.

"I…" He looked distinctly like he was trying to hide an expression with a blank look.

He knew. He knew about George and he was going to out him to the whole school but not before he stabbed him with the fire poker, and oh GOD he'd tell Suki, and worse, he'd tell Fred, and oh FUCK Fred would never forgive him, he'd be furious, and he'd tell…

**MUM**.

For one horrific moment, George thought his bladder was going to empty itself on his shoes.

"About… sometime… maybe meeting somewhere else?" Harry said. He smiled at George, and the older boy swallowed.

"Where… someone might see us?" he asked awkwardly. "I mean…"

Harry shook his head quickly. "No, not if you don't want to. I just meant somewhere a little more…" He gestured emptily at the room.

George looked at the walls. "Spacious?"

"Ah…" More hand waving

"Well-lit?"

"Um…" Even more vague gestures.

"Scenic?"

"Yeah," Harry said quickly, nodding. "Not much to look at here, is there?"

Looking at Harry, George tilted his head and felt his ears go hot as he said, "I dunno. You're here, aren't you?" It was so humiliatingly sappy that his whole face was scarlet by the time it was out of his mouth.

Harry's face was split by a huge pleased, embarrassed smile. He looked at George and the older boy had to nervously laugh and look down at the floor.

"Sorry, that was dumb," George admitted to the rug.

"I dunno," Harry replied with a shrug. The tension on his face was long gone, and George glanced at him when he stood and approached George. "Kinda liked it. Not so bad getting called scenic."

"Oh you liked that, did you?" George teased, regaining his confidence and straightening his spine. He slid his robe off his shoulders as he said, "Then you'll like it when I call you picturesque."

"Oooh." Harry grinned.

"And pastoral." George slung an arm on Harry's hip and drew him in close.

"Stop, Ginger, you're going to make me blush," Harry murmured as their faces drew close. He did not look like he would blush though, and his eyelids lowered enticingly.

"There's not a babbling brook in all of Britain looks as bucolic as you." His voice was almost teasing, low and intimate as Harry leaned in close to brush his cheek against the redhead's throat. He brushed a quick kiss over the skin.

"That's certainly a… different… compliment," Harry said with a quirked grin.

"Ahh, you know you like it different. You're idyllic like that."

"You've swept me off my feet," Harry said coyly, his fingers playing with the edge of George's shirt. "You tell these things to all your boys, don't you?"

"I practice all my good lines on you first." George's hands wandered over Harry's waist.

"You really think I'm pastoral?" Harry asked, running the tip of his nose up George's throat and across his cheek. The older boy inhaled deeply through his mouth and closed his eyes.

"I think you look right fuckable," George whispered, forgetting where he was for a few moments.

"Everything's fuckable if you think about it." Harry's voice was teasing, his hot breath making George grab his hip and pull him closer. "You want it bad enough, you can fuck a table."

"Didn't mean it like that," George protested. "You're fuckable in a '_Gotta_ fuck you' kinda way. Or… maybe a '_Gotta_ have you fuck me' kinda way." It came out too fast, so that he had to inhale sharply after he said it to catch his breath.

"That an invitation, Ginger?" Harry breathed. Their eyes were both closed, mouths nearly touching, faces against each other.

"Maybe." George nudged Harry's face with his own lightly and brushed their lips together before moving back. Harry sought to regain the kiss quickly and George chuckled as he moved away just enough for Harry to miss.

They opened their eyes almost at the exact same moment.

"Maybe it's been awhile since it was your turn," George said as he kissed Harry. "Maybe I'm sick of it being my turn."

"You sure?" Harry asked, but as George was unbuttoning his shirt casually with one hand, the younger boy was tugging them gently toward the bed. "We've not done turns in awhile now. I sort of liked taking it casual-like. Besides, was me doing all the work last time."

"Maybe you were too drunk last time," George suggested, "coz I'm positive it wasn't you." George slipped Harry's shirt off over his shoulders.

Harry sealed their mouths tightly, thrusting his tongue into George's mouth. Startled, George jumped slightly, and would have pulled away if it were not for Harry's hand on his ribs, pulling him closer. He sucked on Harry's tongue quickly as it removed itself from his mouth.

Harry broke the kiss and moved onto the bed, and George followed him, all hands and lips and hunger, pinning his wrists to the mattress and rocking his groin over Harry's enticingly.

"You going to do it?" George asked him breathlessly.

"God, whatever you want," Harry growled, arching his back, eyes closed.

George climbed off him and unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it off as Harry sat up and put his glasses on the floor by the bed. He pushed George down onto the mattress and resumed kissing him.

"You want me to use my mouth first?" Harry asked him, pulling away just a little.

"Er…" George shifted uncomfortably as he looked up at the younger boy. He twisted his mouth as if he were seriously debating it. Blow jobs were another thing he'd avoided over the past several months. Everything else he could last through, but just the thought of Harry's mouth on his cock made him come perilously close to jizzing in his pants.

"Coz I don't want to wait for all that, I want you now." Harry's tone was so brusque that George wondered if the younger boy could sense his hesitation.

"Couldn't keep you waiting," George agreed quickly. He reached up to Harry's waist and removed his pants swiftly before reaching to his own and removing them as well.

As he undressed them, hands sliding their underwear down, Harry leaned down to kiss him, fingers combing through the red hair. George pulled his wand out and mumbled into the kiss, tapping Harry's palm.

"Thought I was the impatient one," Harry said with a smile, pulling away just far enough to speak.

"Don't talk, too horny," George growled, and then moaned as Harry's hand moved between his legs. The lubricated fingers toyed with his ass for a few minutes, stroking the delicate skin and then massaging the puckered entrance, slipping inside a few times.

George was holding almost completely still, breath held until Harry gently reminded him to breathe. He laughed shortly and did his own reminding to himself to relax. Harry's other hand moved to his dick and languidly stroked it.

There was silence in the room when Harry's finger pushed inside of George, slowly and patiently, then pulled back out. He fucked the older boy a few times slowly with his finger, matching his rhythm to the slow movements on his cock. When his finger pressed up in George searchingly, there was a sharp breath as George's hips lifted from the bed and twisted.

Harry stopped stroking his dick and put his hand on George's thigh, forcing him back down to the bed. The redhead's knees were trembling, and Harry resumed the slow methodic petting and worked another finger into him.

"That's…" George's voice caught and he instantly forgot what he had been in the middle of saying. "Wait…"

"You can take it," Harry said softly, and kissed his stomach. "I'd not hurt you, Ginger."

George made a small noise in his throat as Harry's fingers moved inside of him, stroking at his prostate and spreading him open widely. Harry's face moved up to his throat and began kissing the skin there sweetly, pressing his temple to George's jaw.

Harry pulled his fingers from George's anus and began rubbing the lubricant from his hand onto his erection, looking at George's flushed face.

"You ready, Ginger?" he asked in a low voice. He crawled atop the boy, between his legs, and looked down at him.

"Just do it," George told him breathlessly, closing his eyes. He felt Harry's dick press against his hole and tensed. Then he remembered that wasn't the way to go about it and relaxed himself.

Harry began pushing into him slowly, so slowly that he made an impatient noise.

"C'mon, Harry," he said, opening his eyes and looking at the younger boy. "You fuck like a girl."

Stifling a laugh, Harry hung his head for a minute, then looked back up at George with a twinkle in his eyes. He thrust into George sharply, making the older boy cringe and yelp.

"How's'at for your girl?" he grinned.

"Spiteful bastard," George mumbled, and found himself smiling in spite of the discomfort. Harry lay still for a moment as they spoke, waiting for George to adjust to him.

"Only coz I want in your pants." Harry buried his face into the crook of the older boy's neck.

"You've gotten into them," George pointed out. "Into me as well. Not much further you can go."

"Don't be cheeky while I'm sodomizing you," Harry mumbled, and George began to laugh. Harry's hips slowly began to pull away, his cock withdrawing from the hot embrace of George's body.

"You started it," he murmured, and then moaned softly as Harry's erection rubbed into his prostate. "Do it again." Harry repeated the movement with his hips, and George arched up into the sensation.

"Did not, you did," Harry panted, and began sliding himself in and out of George's anal passage with fervor.

"Did so." George's arms wrapped around him at the same time that his legs did.

"Did not." Harry kissed at George's throat then buried his face again, then tilted his head back, moaned, then dipped his head forward again. He looked as though he could not find a comfortable place to put his head, or as though he were too impatient to stay in one spot too long.

"Did so," George said, completely mindlessly. He couldn't remember what they were talking about as his body focused itself completely on the pleasure Harry was causing below his waist.

"Did not," Harry's breath was hot against his skin and George pulled the younger boy closer, moaning softly into the embrace as Harry's hand moved between them to pet at him casually.

"Did so." He was on autopilot now.

"Did not."

"Did so." Did he say it? Did Harry? Why were they still talking at all? He was so close, none of it mattered anymore.

"Did not."

"Do it harder, faster, Harry, please," George growled, his fingers digging into Harry's shoulders. "More… Fuck me so hard, God just a little more I'm so close… fuck..."

"Do you like it deep like this?" Harry asked him softly, breathless, hips pumping swiftly. The way his cock stroked George's sensitive, clenching insides was maddening, and the rough pressure of Harry's hand and stomach on his aching member was making his whole body hot and weak.

"Fuck, yes, like that," George moaned, and tilted his head back on the pillow. "Your cock is… GOD I like it."

"You like it coz you're gay, Ginger," Harry panted against his throat.

George's mind nearly snapped in half as he groaned loudly and felt the weight of the world explode through his dick onto his stomach. His feet dug into Harry's ass, enjoying the rough fucking Harry continued to deliver as he rode his orgasm.

"Christ, Harry," he panted, fingers moving through Harry's hair. He looked up at the younger boy. "I love you."

"Love you too," Harry grunted mindlessly, bending forward and thrusting wildly.

"No, I mean I love you," George repeated, and found, to his surprise, that it was true. "I really, really… love you."

Harry shuddered and let out a panting, breathless moan as he thrust roughly a few times, slowed and came to a stop. He looked at George and searched his eyes for a few seconds.

"I love you so sodding much," he whispered. They looked at each other for another moment before George tugged him up so that their mouths could meet in a soft, deep kiss.

George felt something horrible inside of himself. It was a mixture of pleasure and pain and happiness and sadness, and it was all so much that he could feel it trying to escape his body. He whimpered softly and started to cry.

"What's wrong? Did I hurt you?" Harry sat back a little and slowly pulled his softening penis from George's ass. "Are you okay? Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry, I take it back whatever it was."

"No, no you twat," George said, smiling weakly. "I'm okay. I'm fine."

"Just okay?" Harry asked with a half-smile.

"Say it again," George whispered, and pulled Harry back into the kiss.

"I love you Ginger," Harry murmured against his lips.

"I love you, I love you." George's voice was faint behind the crackling of the fire. "I don't want to leave, I love you."

"Stay for a bit with me," Harry said softly. "We've nowhere to be."

George rolled onto his side and pulled Harry down so that his chest was against Harry's back. He hugged Harry to himself and buried his nose in the black hair.

"We could… we could make this work." Harry's voice was timid.

George tried to figure out what that could mean. "Yeah, maybe."

"I mean… I know there's your brother and all…"

"George's just a whiner," George told him dismissively.

Harry fell silent.

"Maybe we can talk about this next time," he went on, holding Harry tighter. "I don't want to be anywhere else."

"Yeah," Harry whispered. He picked up George's hand and kissed the palm before returning it to its spot. He turned his head to look at George. "This is nice, though. Just being here."

George looked at him for a long time and then smiled. "I'm crazy in love with you, aren't I?" Harry's mouth curled into a smile and his eyes closed.

"I guess so."


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: When I reminisce upon writing this story, I am struck to my core with warm fuzzies. No kidding.

I think it's because there are only two logical conclusions to a relationship. One is that two people fall in love, and the other is that they do not. What decisions they make after that happens differs (babies, marriage, non-marriage, breaking up, loveless marriage, murder, murder/suicide, etc), but between two people there is either love or there isn't. Being kind of in love is not too far off from being kind of married, or kind of pregnant.

There's something ridiculously romantic about people who can't be honest about falling in love. Ironically, there is nothing romantic or fun at all about people who can't be honest about falling out of love.

There's something just so warm and fuzzy for me about this story, regardless of any result that could come from the conclusion of this story… Which, let's be fair, stands a pretty fair chance of being pretty horrible for George. I don't know if anyone else gets warm fuzzies or just nauseous and worried when they read this, but I hope it's the warm fuzzies.

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Part Ten

It was hard, watching Fred flirt with girls and boys alike in London. Knowing that at Hogwarts, where George only went once a month, Harry waited, faithful to the end. Knowing that Harry was madly in love with his brother. Knowing that Fred didn't care.

He didn't know when Fred'd stopped caring. The dynamics between Harry and Fred confused him. Perhaps it was because he'd never had his own relationship, perhaps because he'd only just fallen in love for the first time. Whatever the reason, he found himself resenting his twin for treating someone he claimed to love so poorly.

George'd ended things with Suki right before the twins had left Hogwarts. It'd been irritating leading her on, and she'd begun to make plans for them after graduation. He'd put up with it, but when she started talking about sex and marriage and kids, he'd felt like puking and had just straight given up.

Not worth the bloody trouble.

Fred had asked him, right after, if he wanted to talk about it. He and Suki had been together a whole year. He'd said no, he was fine. And then Fred had gotten a funny look on his face and asked if there was anything else George wanted to talk about. And George had gotten indignant and demanded if there was something that perhaps FRED wanted to talk about, because maybe there were things they both had to get off their chests and why should he be the sodding one to start?

Fred had shut up and walked away, red faced. But they both knew that George knew.

After that, in pubs and clubs, Fred had begun to openly flirt with boys. He was obviously careful though, because George never saw him kiss one, and he certainly never brought one home.

It wasn't all that much a big deal though. Fred flirted with girls as well, and never let George see him kiss them either.

Now, whenever George sneaked out to Hogsmeade to meet Harry, the younger boy asked him why he couldn't come more often. He said how much he missed him, how much he loved him.

It was starting to rip George apart inside.

There wasn't anything in him anymore than could deny how he felt. He hadn't been even remotely attracted to any girl since he'd started seeing Harry. And blokes, well… he'd not wanted to jump any of them, but he'd started noticing them. Not just boys either, but proper men.

One man had gotten him alone one night at a club, while Fred was off with some girl. He was tall and blonde and he'd pressed George against a wall and kissed him and told him how beautiful he was. George had gotten wood and flustered all at once. It wasn't until the man's hand was rubbing at his cock through the fabric of his pants that George had pushed him away, too embarrassed at the crowd of people dancing around them, mind too heavy with thoughts of Harry to go on.

So he was gay; so what? Lots of blokes were. His brother was a little. His brother's boyfriend was. Not the greatest examples, but George wasn't really into the gay scene. He'd no reason to go out and meet other gay men, he was… well he wasn't really in a relationship but… he was involved. Well, unintentionally involved. Secretly involved.

The last time he'd seen Harry, the younger boy had whispered in his ear:

"I touch myself when I think about you."

George had almost thrown him down and fucked him senseless that very moment. But it had also weighed on him. He almost never jerked off anymore. It was too stressful to sleep in the room next to Fred's and wank to the thought of his brother's boyfriend. But he couldn't do it without Harry in his mind, so it was easier to not do it at all.

George spent a lot of time trying not to think about Harry. Trying not to think about how he could last a whole minute with Harry's mouth on his cock now. Trying not to think about Harry's face when he came. Trying not to think about how it felt to have Harry inside him.

"Freckle-face," Harry said, sticking his tongue out at George.

George grinned. "Freckle-face? Is that your idea of an insult?"

"Oh, uh…" Harry appeared flustered. "No… I mean…"

"Not a new nickname," George asked, leaning closer. He pressed their naked chests together.

"No," Harry said quickly, shaking his head. "Just an insult."

George smiled and playfully nosed Harry's chin. "Call me freckle-face again and I'll pull out before you cum next time."

"Ooo you're sexy when you're angry," Harry said, feigning shock.

"Shut up and let me bugger you in peace," George said with a broad teasing smile.


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note: Contrary to the warm fuzzies of last week, this chapter makes me sick. Because you know what? I know bad writing when I see it. Unless it's my own writing. But the point remains. I know lame plot twists and pathetic character deaths and… well… I'm biased, I know. But still. It was a fizzle ending to a explosive series.

But I thought it'd be better if I kept in the facts. Because, hey, it's her lame book, not mine. My book would be way lamer. Truth, son, truth.

This chapter is extremely short, for which I will not apologize because it was unpleasant to write and made me very cross and impatient to GET ON WITH IT. I'll post more later on in the week so no one has to sit around thinking "That douche posted a page and a half about depressing bullshit" and then mail me an exploding tool box. Please don't do that, it would upset the neighbors.

___________________________

Part Eleven

It was the last time George would ever see Fred. He didn't know it then.

Well, that wasn't true. Part of him knew. Most of him feared it, maybe it would be him who didn't come back, maybe it would be Fred. But part of him knew that this was it. They both did.

They stood next to each other, wands in hand, and there was a roar of crumbling stones around them, screaming, shouting, and magical explosions.

"I know," Fred had yelled.

"What?" George had called back. "What do you know?"

"EVERYTHING you tosser!" Fred had yelled back and grinned at him. He'd grabbed George in a hug and spoken into his ear. "I know you know. About me, and me and Harry, and I know that you and he… I just know, okay? And I'm not mad."

"Fred, I –"

"Shut up," Fred had yelled back, pulling away and grinning. His eyes had gone red around the edges. "Promise you'll meet me here after."

George had nodded fiercely.

He had also shown up after it had ended, his head bleeding fiercely, one hand pressed against it to staunch the blood where his ear had been. He wanted to find Fred. To apologize. To get everything off his chest, and to finally be completely honest with SOMEONE, the only person he knew would understand him perfectly.

Fred had not shown up.

And before he could see the body, before anyone could tell him, George knew. He did not move for a long time. There were no tears to cry, no words to say, nothing to do… it was just a wash of nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Note: This is a woooordy chapter. Because… I raaaaamble. And while I am not a fan of blatant exposition… it just sort of happens to me. I think I was a Bond villain in a past life.

This is the second to last chapter. Mysteries will be solved, hearts will be broken, lives will be changed, babies will be saved, and all this happens As The World Turns. ::cue dramatic orchestral music::

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Part Twelve

After the funeral, George found himself alone.

That was not entirely true. After the funeral, George had walked away from everyone. Away from his sobbing and wailing mother, away from his brothers and their significant others, away from his weeping sister, away from his ashen father.

He just started walking, in full suit and shiny uncomfortable shoes, mind completely empty. It was easiest when his mind was empty. There were not half-finished sentences or jokes that were waiting for completion when his mind was empty.

When he got to the shop, he went inside. Somewhere, in the back of his head, he knew it was a good twenty kilometers from the graveyard to their… HIS shop. He looked at the large room for a long moment. At the shelves, and the floor, and the barrels, and the till, and the windows and the back room where Fred had fallen asleep many times while working.

Then George leaned over and threw up into a barrel of exploding snitches.

They nearly took his eyebrows off before he could stumble away.

Part of him wanted to scream at the store, at everything in it, and then rip it all apart, every last stupid piece of it until there was nothing left of Fred anywhere in his life.

Instead, he opened the door, locked it behind him, and left.

He started walking again.

And he was back at Fred's grave. Everyone was gone now. He didn't know how long it had been since the funeral had ended, but the sun that had finished rising right before the funeral was low in the sky again.

He found himself properly alone.

For the first time in his entire life, alone. Completely and utterly alone. He wondered if it was this horribly empty for everyone in the world who did not have a twin. Slowly he sat down on Fred and stared at his gravestone.

It could still be a joke. One big trick his stupid brother, one minute younger, two minutes dumber, was playing on him. Any minute now, Fred would tap him on the shoulder and grin at him and say, "You wanker, you believed it, didn't you? I can't believe you fell for it! How many times did we plan this out, faking our own deaths just to take the mick out of Mum and Dad and now you fell for it yourself?!"

And he would start crying.

Cry like he was crying now. Completely silently, but so hard that his jaw was trembling.

Christ, he was so alone. He was cut off from the world. Where was Fred's tap? When was it going to come? There was always a punchline if you waited long enough, he knew it. He suddenly was gasping for air through his tears and a strangled noise was coming from his throat and he moaned low and angry.

His foot shot out and rammed into Fred's gravestone. That fucking cunt, leaving him all the fuck alone, without anyone to talk to. He was sobbing now, his ankle aching as he drew it back to himself. It was coming, he knew it was; Fred was going to come up and tap him on the shoulder and say it was one fucking stupid joke and…

There was a tap on his shoulder.

George yelped and whipped around, scrambling until his back smacked against the headstone.

It was Harry.

"I…" Harry looked hesitant. "I saw you leave earlier today."

"Yeah, well." George looked down at the freshly dug dirt he'd been sitting on. He scrubbed at his face with a sleeve.

"I know that you don't want it like this, but I figured with Fred and everything, you know…" Harry looked nervous, and sat down on the grass, careful not to disturb the grave.

"What you on about, mate?" George asked him gruffly, trying to steel his shaking jaw and hands.

"Well, I thought you might want me here," Harry said with a small smile. "Just to be here. So you're not so alone."

"I'm really fine," George said stiffly. "If I needed someone I've got Mum and them, don't I."

Harry's smile disappeared and he nodded. "Yeah. I just… sorry, Ginger."

"What?"

Harry looked up at George. "I said, sorry."

"No, what did you call me?" A flash of anger lit through George.

"Ginger," Harry repeated, puzzled.

"Listen, Harry, I don't know where you get off, but I don't appreciate you calling me that. I'm not Fred, and I never will be, and he and I are nothing alike and we…"

"Woah!" Harry held up his hands. "I… what? No, I don't think you…"

George abruptly stood up.

"Ginge, please, wait a second," Harry pleaded, getting to his feet.

"Quit calling me that," George snapped, now almost completely enraged.

"I've been calling you that for almost two years now!" Harry protested.

"No, you've called FRED that for two years," George snapped. "And yeah, I knew, okay? So no more playing it like you're clever and sneaky."

"George I…" Harry stopped and looked completely surprised. "I never called Fred Ginger."

"Yeah you did," George said, angrier than ever. His ankle was starting to throb painfully and he wondered if he'd broken it when he kicked Fred's tombstone. Fuckin' dead wanker WOULD have the last say, wouldn't he? "And I'd appreciate it if the games stopped. He's gone now, he's not going to get chapped at us for talking about it."

"I never called him Ginger," Harry repeated. His eyes were on George's face firmly, but the rest of him was tentative and confused. There was a pause between them. "He never told you, did he? I asked him to. He said he would, but I got the feeling he was just saying it to get me to shut up."

"Tell me what?"

"Fred and I broke up about a year ago."

There was a long, drawn out pause. George could not think, could not move, could barely focus on Harry's words echoing loudly in his head. He swallowed deeply as those unnervingly green eyes watched him closely.

"Did you?" George asked weakly.

Harry nodded slowly. He did not look away from George. "I didn't really have a nickname for him. Sometimes Freckles, but only to piss him off."

"So Ginger…"

"Ginger's you."

"Ginger's…" George felt ill suddenly. "This whole… I mean… you…" Harry took a step toward him as the older boy hunched forward slightly.

"I thought you knew that he and I ended it," Harry said simply. "I… I thought you…"

"No I didn't fucking know, Harry," George whispered, and closed his eyes and felt the world spin around him.

"I…" Harry seemed to be struggling. "You found out about everything _else_. I thought you just… were ashamed of me. You didn't even want to come out." There was a heavy silence. George wanted to ask him what was wrong with him that he wanted to be with someone who was ashamed of him. He thought better of it the moment it went through his head.

Harry's eyes were burning holes into his skull and he looked down at his feet.

"Why didn't you… I mean…" George felt like he was going to throw up again. "When you found out it was me why didn't you…"

Harry looked startled.

"Why didn't I say something?" he asked. "I've always known, George." He took another step toward George. "The first time you came in. The minute I saw your face."

"But…" George lifted his aching foot from the ground, trying to lessen the pressure on it.

"I can tell the difference between you two," Harry said, taking his elbow and helping him maintain his balance. "I'm not dense."

"You never…" George seemed incapable of finishing sentences. He swallowed, embarrassed, trying to hold back the bile that edged at his throat. He could feel the color draining from his face.

"No, well, you were playing a right nasty trick on me, weren't you?" Harry laughed shortly. "Or trying to. And then I was scared to tell you because you seemed so happy with the way things were. And it was easier to pretend I thought you were Fred than to talk to you about… about us. I mean, look how you're taking it. Not so well, yeah?"

"I didn't…" George's voice was thick and he tried to swallow again. "I'm going to be sick." He leaned forward and Harry grabbed his ribs to hold him up as he vomited onto the grass next to Fred's grave.

His esophagus burned painfully and he spat out the bile in his mouth that had not made it to the ground. He wiped his damp sleeve at the long strand of saliva that dripped from his lower lip.

"I know," Harry said gently. He helped George straighten. "I know you didn't mean it to happen. I didn't either."

"Then why'd it happen?" George whispered. His head throbbed and spun unpleasantly. Harry's arm around his back and hands on his arms were steadier than the earth was, and he let the younger boy take some of his weight.

"Just did, didn't it?" Harry said helplessly. "Thought I'd scare you off. I knew why you were there. I got mad that you were trying to tell me off. But then you didn't back down. At first it was just to see how far I could take it before you went mental, and after that… I dunno."

"I think I broke my ankle," George replied, his voice cracking painfully.

"C'mon then," Harry said gently, helping him limp to the gravestone. George sat and Harry bent down to roll up his pants leg and look at his ankle. "You kick Fred's stone?"

George nodded wearily and rubbed at his forehead with one hand. He winced as Harry's fingers gently ran over his leg.

"Looks broken to me." He put the palm of his hand over George's ankle and whispered something softly. There was a glowing light and the pain began to ebb away. "It's not fixed, but it won't hurt anymore. That means be extra careful, right?" He looked up at George.

The older boy was staring down at him intently. Harry smiled at him through the intensity of the gaze and rocked back on his heels.

"You…"

"I never fell in love with Fred, just like he never fell in love with me," Harry said evenly. "I fell in love with you."

"And…"

"And I'm the one told him you and I were seeing each other. You remember, you came in about a year ago, and before I even saw it was you I started in on my speech, and you nearly wet yourself. You remember, it was when you said I looked like a babbling brook."

"How…"

"It wasn't hard to tell you apart," Harry told him. "Your eyes aren't always squinting, and you smile less. You've more freckles. Your mouth isn't so soft looking. You've more muscles and he was thin and wiry. He was always laughing, always joking. You get serious. He liked to get up and move around after sex and you like to hold me. You talk dirty when you're hot. He used magic for everything, you don't. You get shy, he had a temper. And you both… I mean… you're so… different… in bed." Harry's face flushed, embarrassed.

At that, George had to look away and try to process what was happening. He could feel the panicked confusion on his face, but was helpless to do anything but sit there and stare at the grass.

"George…" Harry sounded completely confused. "Do you…"

"No, don't go," George said wearily and closed his eyes. He felt Harry's hands move to his knees and rest there. "I just don't know what to say."

He felt Harry's thumb stroke his knee comfortingly once.

"How do you…" George tried to think of how to finish the fucking sentence. How to ask Harry if this was real. If at the heart of it all, there was love and potential and hope… Or if it had all been a lie. Just a big fucking game of make-believe and two fools pretending to be George and Harry.

Instead, they both sat there in silence.

"Do you remember the first time you said you loved me and meant it?" Harry asked softly. George furrowed his brow but did not open his eyes. "I made you say it a lot before you meant it. I was afraid that if you ever DID mean it… you wouldn't say it. Fred never said it at all."

"I…" George trailed off. Sure, he could remember it. The first time he could properly recognize the feeling in his chest, finally put a name to why his pulse fluttered when he thought about Harry.

"George." The voice was gentle and coaxing. "Look at me. I don't like it when you hide from me."

George felt something pass through him, something warm and tickling. He opened his eyes and slowly turned his head to look at Harry. The younger boy was… well he wasn't really a boy anymore, was he? He looked older. It hadn't been SO long since he and Harry had last met… but it'd been a few painful months.

George opened his mouth and said softly, "Been awhile since you said that."

"Been awhile since you hid from me." Harry rest his cheek on one of the hands resting on George's knees. He smiled at George.

"You know me so well, when was it, then?" George asked uncertainly. "When'd I mean it?"

"I was screwing you," Harry told him. George felt his ears go red and he frowned. "First time that it properly counted coz it was the first time you asked me to do it. And you came all over me and said it, and I didn't even notice it at first coz my eyes were closed and I thought you were just saying it to make me hurry up. So I said it back, and you said no."

"Did I?" George sighed dismissively. It felt odd, Harry being so familiar with him without the pretenses.

"Stop that," Harry said with a small grin. "Yeah, and then you said you meant it. Did you know that's what made me cum?"

"We're in a graveyard," George admonished, face turning red.

"If they were willing to bury Foul Mouthed Fred here then they probably won't mind if I talk about cumming." Harry stood up and looked down at George. "Well? Am I right about all of it?"

"Yeah, well." George looked down at their feet and then back up at Harry, who was smiling, a touch triumphantly. "That was then."

Harry had nothing to say for a long time. They stood there for a minute, looking at each other, then at their feet, and then at the trees, and then back at each other.

"You think you can love me without pretending to be Fred?" Harry asked quietly.

George felt himself crack in half. "I can't do anything without him, can I?" he mumbled and felt his eyes go red. He clenched his teeth and looked down. He felt Harry's hands slide onto his shoulders and run up his neck.

"You can stop hiding behind him."

"Who's hiding?" George muttered, and looked up at Harry. Their eyes locked for a few moments. "Maybe you don't love me. Maybe you love me pretending to be Fred."

"You stopped trying to pretend a few months in and you weren't very good at it to begin with," Harry told him. "I didn't just love you when we were alone. I loved you when we ate lunch together, and when you slept across the tower from me, and when you stood up for me in school, and when you teased Ron, and made fun of Percy, and caused as much bloody trouble as you could to get kicked out of Hogwarts. I loved you all the time."

He looked at George seriously, and George couldn't think of anything to reply with.

"Did you only love me when our clothes were off?" Harry asked. His fingers curled to George's ear and stroked it gently. His other hand brushed over the scar where his other ear had been. George closed his eyes for a moment and his brow creased.

"Do I have to answer right now?" he asked wearily. He opened his eyes after a moment of silence.

There was nothing on Harry's face. And then he blinked twice in a row. After the second blink, his eyes were suddenly glassy and rimmed with red. His hand flew to the back of his head and he scratched at it vacantly. George'd never seen Harry look close to tears before.

"No. I guess not," Harry said awkwardly. He brought both of his hands to his side, fully releasing George. There was an awful quiet. Weakly, Harry said, "Wow, how many times I have this nightmare?" He forced a short, sharp laugh.

George took one of the hands and held it firmly. His eyes went down to look at Harry's hand closely.

"Was he angry when you told him?" George whispered to Harry's hand.

"Not too much," Harry replied, and George could hear the tight pain in his voice. "Mostly peeved you'd kept it from him."

George looked up at Harry and saw his reddened eyes. He tugged at Harry's hand a few times, and the younger boy… man, George corrected himself, did not quite get it right away. He tugged firmer, pulling Harry down a little.

Stopping a few inches above George's face, Harry looked at him closely.

"George." He said the name tenderly, but also mindfully.

"He won't mind," George said softly, nodding toward the grave beneath them. "He'd be cross if we didn't."

"I didn't mean him," Harry mumbled. "I meant me."

"I know what you meant." He pulled lightly this time, and Harry lowered willingly.

Their lips pressed together. It was timid, as if it was their first. And then Harry brought his other hand to hold George's neck, pressing the tip of his tongue between their lips, deepening the kiss.

After a minute, George ended it and pressed their foreheads together. Harry's breath was short and uneven.

"Do you have any idea how hard it's been?" George whispered, his eyes still closed. "Loving you from the other end of the dining hall? While you're in those stupid sodding robes?"

"Yes, you twat," Harry breathed.

George opened his eyes and saw Harry was smiling. He wanted to smile back, but it just seemed like too much work to muster up the emotion.

"It'll be okay, you know." Harry's voice was soothing, and George exhaled slowly. "If it's not a good time to talk about this, that's fine. We don't have to –"

"Come home with me," George whispered, interrupting him.

Surprise read on Harry's face.

"I don't want to be alone tonight. I want you there. I want to forget everything. And I want…" he trailed off, not really wanting to voice his last desire, a little embarrassed.

"George," Harry murmured, then smiled. George's cheeks went pink. His last request, too ridiculous sounding to say aloud, was to hear Harry say his name again. "George, George, George. Let me in bed with you and I'll say it so loud the neighbors will phone the police."

Harry grinned, and George could feel the good mood that Harry was trying to pull out of him. And as much as he did not want to, it was just easier to go along with it. It made his whole being hurt so much less to smile and laugh and pretend that nothing was wrong. No dead brother, no two year secret relationship of lies, no awkward explanations. That could come later.

"There's no one to call the police _here_," George said pointedly, glancing around the graveyard. "They've not got phones. Or fingers, most of 'em."

They both looked at each other. Harry looked a little surprised that George had not only gone along with it, but made such a crude suggestion. Then his look switched to one of pleasure and he laughed lightly.

"I think Fred'd be the only one pleased if we did rude things on his grave. Besides, you've a broken ankle."

"Doesn't hurt."

"I know it doesn't," Harry reminded him with a snort. "I'm the one made it that way. Wouldn't be so hard to make it worse though, would it?"

"You could just get on your knees," George suggested. "Right where you are now."

"Oh, and you'll take all of forty-five seconds to jizz in my mouth?" Harry teased.

"Fifty-seven," George sniffed. They smiled at each other and Harry's fingers moved to George's hair to comb through it slowly. George could feel the aching misery pulling at him and to put it off, he said swiftly, "Can I ask you somethin' I've been wondering bout for ages now?"

"Anything you want."

"Who'd you lose your virginity to?" Immediately after saying it, he shook his head. "No, that's not what I meant. Who made you cum the first time? When you did it in your pants?"

Harry looked embarrassed and he laughed awkwardly. "Fred."

"Jesus!" George exclaimed. "You played it off like…"

"Fred made fun of me like mad for it, and I always worried that he'd told someone. I was sort of curious to see if you knew."

George let the thought linger in the air, before trying, "Fred never… er…"

"No, he was never premature," Harry said, straightening up. "It's not genetic, it's just you. He took ages sometimes. Used to give me a bloody crick in my jaw. Maybe that's why I like you better." He grinned at George.

George rolled his eyes, face tomato red. Harry was fingering his fringe casually, as if it were something they did in graveyards all the time.

"How about we go find you a Healer for that ankle?" Harry asked, tapping the top of his head lightly. "I don't know what it's like to get to spend a whole night with you, do I?"

"I snore," George said lightly.

"No you don't," Harry replied just as blithely.

"I drool."

"That's a lie."

"I kick in my sleep."

"Well then we can have a footy match in bed can't we?"

"I don't know what you're on about, you nutter," George told him, and began to stand up.

"Wait, wait," Harry said swiftly, slipping his shoulder under George's. "Just because it doesn't hurt doesn't mean you can just walk around on it."

George let Harry take his weight, slinging his arm over the younger man's shoulders. He looked down at Harry, who was still - and always would be - a bit shorter.

"Y'know, it'd be easier if you just let me levitate you," Harry told him, looking at him with a small smile. His hand tightly held onto George's ribs.

"Yeah, but then I'd not get to put my arm round you," George replied, face completely sincere and somber.

They stared at each other for a few seconds before Harry burst into a peal of laughter.

"You're such a bloody flirt!" he exclaimed, shaking his head as he laughed.

"C'mon, I want to play footsy with you already," George complained, nodding toward the exit. "Can't do it with a broken ankle, can I?"

"Footy," Harry corrected him.

"'S what I said," George shrugged.

They both looked at their feet as George hopped forward and Harry stepped with him in time. George winced and growled softly as a jolt of agonizing pain shot up his injured leg. Harry stopped and bent his head to look at George's swollen ankle.

"Maybe I'd best just Apparate us there, yeah?" Harry asked, brow knitting in worry.

"Well if you're going to go on and on and on about it," George grunted through gritted teeth, "guess I can't stop you."


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note: Well, this is the last chapter. Thanks to everyone who read, and thanks to everyone enjoyed it, and thanks to everyone who hated it but kept reading anyway.

And thanks to J.K. for coming up with characters I enjoyed reading, because with so much crap out in the world (I'm looking at you, Stephanie Meyer), it's nice to have somewhere comfortable to relax my mind.

And for the record, real redheads? Totally sexy. True story.

___________________________

Part Thirteen

George and Harry popped onto the steps of the shop. It was dark out now, and George fumbled in his pocket for keys. He slid the key into the lock and stepped inside with a slight limp. Harry followed slowly, nervously.

They both wrinkled their noses at the smell.

"I ah… sort of got sick in the snitches," George said, motioning weakly toward the barrel.

"Burnt barf," Harry noted, seeing the scorch marks on the barrel. He took a step toward it and held a hand over the mess, muttering something. The barrel shimmered for a moment before the smell disappeared completely.

"Thanks. Handy little thing you've got there."

Harry rolled his eyes at the pun. "I've not made any ear jokes, have I?"

"Sorry, didn't catch that, my hearing's not half what it used to be." George began to limp to the stairs in the back.

They climbed the stairs, George well aware of Harry's burning gaze on his back. Heat of the moment in the graveyard was one thing, but he wasn't really sure what to expect once they were in his flat, alone.

George had not been fooling around when he'd told Harry that he wasn't sure they could make things work without Fred. Yeah, he wanted to kiss Harry, and he wanted to fuck Harry, same as he had for ages. But, physically speaking, those things just came naturally to him now, and his dick wasn't holding up its end of the conversation with his brain.

His brain was telling him that he didn't know what he needed right now. It was telling him that it hurt to think too long and too hard about life. It was telling him that there was a giant gaping hole in his heart that Fred used to occupy, and no matter how much he loved him and how well they fit together, Harry would never be able to fill it.

His dick was telling him to quit whining.

When they got to the top of the stairs, George entered the flat and closed the door behind Harry. He watched the younger man cross the room and sit down on a dingy sofa couch. They locked eyes.

Right, so dick was still not talking to brain. Because dick was saying, "He's got bedroom eyes. That means QUIT STARING AND START SCREWING." And brain was saying, "Do you really want to wake up tomorrow morning and tell him it was a mistake?"

George looked down at his feet.

"I need a drink," he mumbled and headed for the tiny kitchen. Harry watched him.

"Me being here's just adding one more thing to your plate, isn't it?" he asked as George crossed in front of him.

The redhead stopped and glanced at Harry. He shrugged wearily.

"You not being here'd be one more thing as well," George said noncommittally. He continued into the kitchen and began fumbling in the cupboards.

Behind him, he could hear Harry's feet approach. Without warning, Harry's chest pressed against his back.

"Look," Harry said in a low voice, "if this is it for us, then I want to make it count."

"I don't know if it is or not."

"Well I'm assuming it is." Harry's breath was suddenly hot on his ear and neck. "But I want one night where it IS just you and me. You owe it to me."

Harry's hands slipped around to George's hips and gripped them tightly.

George had to close his eyes as Harry pressed their bodies together. His hands moved to the countertop, flattened out, and his breath caught as Harry's fingers moved to his fly. The hips behind him rubbed against his ass, and he could feel the stiff column of Harry's cock through their pants.

"All this time," Harry murmured, as his hands reached into George's pants, "wanting it to just be you and me, George." He kissed under George's ear as his fingers slipped into the other man's boxers. "And now if I could change it back, I would."

George's throat closed. Wouldn't they both bring Fred back if they could? Fucking moronic thing to say. He leaned his head forward and his shoulders shook as he held in a sobbing noise. Harry's hands stopped moving.

"Jesus. I've got a bloody huge mouth, don't I?" Harry noted, and leaned his head against George's back. "I'm sorry."

George shook his head, but could not speak for fear of weeping.

"Generally speaking," he said finally, after swallowing the lump in his throat, "this sort of thing is meant to help me forget my troubles."

"Not make them more painful? Really? You sure about that?" Harry asked, a smile in his voice. "Look, go sit down and I'll get you a glass of brandy."

"You don't know where anything is," George said weakly, looking at the kitchenette, but allowing Harry to move past him.

"You've four cupboards and half a fridge. I think I'll manage. Go take it easy, yeah?" Harry gestured toward the couch, and George gave up, limping out to sit down.

While Harry clattered about in the kitchen, George stared at the couch and set his jaw. He was sitting on Fred's half of the couch.

It wasn't anything they'd decided specifically, just something that always happened when they sat down. Fred took the right half, George the left. He'd never taken the right side before, and he wasn't sure what had compelled him to sit here now. He was occupying Fred's spot on the couch and in life, trying to make up for the loss of half of them. A wave of nausea washed over him, and his eyes flit up to the doorway as he heard footsteps leaving the kitchen.

Harry came out with a dusty looking bottle and two glasses.

"C'mon then," he said, sitting down. He pulled the cork out of the top of the bottle and sniffed it. "Well it's not brandy, mate. Smells pretty strong, whatever it is."

"Might be paint remover," George said tiredly.

Harry poured some into a cup and handed it to him. He knocked it back swiftly and then made a face.

"I think I used this to clean the loo three months ago," he said, looking at his glass in disgust. Then he held it back out toward Harry expectantly. The younger man shrugged and poured him another.

George drank four more shots before putting his cup down and sinking back into the cushions. He could see the concern on Harry's face while he drank, and could not help but notice the relief the younger man showed when he stopped. For a moment, he wanted to be irritated by the attention, but couldn't be bothered to muster up the emotions. He sighed heavily.

"Do you want me to go?" Harry asked him softly.

George did not look at him. "I dunno."

"It's not a big deal." Harry shifted on the couch and looked at the liquor bottle. "If you want to be alone, I mean."

"I don't want to be alone." George's tone was almost annoyed at having to answer questions.

"So, then you want me to stay?"

"Not many other options if I don't want to be alone."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the hurt on Harry's face.

"I could take you to the Burrow."

"Mum starts crying whenever she sees my face." George did not like to see his mother's face crumple in disappointment and then into tears, as if she were surprised that he was still not Fred. It was no longer a question as to which twin he was. No more guessing games. Always George. Never Fred.

"Do you want me to sleep on the couch?"

George shook his head.

"Well, then where?" Harry looked at him expectantly.

"I dunno." That was a lie: he did know where he wanted Harry to sleep. But he didn't want to say it.

"I'm not going to invite myself," Harry told him sharply, crossing his arms. "You're the one breaking my heart, not the other way round."

George looked up at the ceiling vacantly.

"Right before he died," George said softly, "he found me. And he said he knew that I knew about him and you. And that he knew about me and you. And then he said it was okay, and I think he was gonna cry."

There was an oppressive silence.

He could feel Harry's body sliding down the couch, and when the other man spoke, George could tell he had moved down so that their faces were level.

"You want me to sleep in your bed, George?" Harry asked quietly.

"Yeah," George whispered, and felt his eyes burn as they stared at the ceiling.

Consolingly, Harry's fingers stroked down one of his cheeks, and George squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could, and then turned toward Harry.

Harry's arms moved around his shoulders, and George's face pressed against his chest, one arm trapped under his body, the other around Harry's waist, and they were hugging so tightly George wondered if the cells of their bodies were not fusing together.

He didn't know how long they sat like that. He didn't know if he cried or not. He didn't know if he told Harry that he would always regret not coming out to Fred. He didn't even know if Harry hushed at him, or rubbed his back, or told him to quit wailing before he frightened the neighbors.

Harry probably could have told him what exactly happened (George held on to him for fifteen whole minutes in near silence, and when he sat back, Harry's shirt was soaked through). But George would never ask him.

When he sat back at last, Harry's fingers were wiping at his cheeks, then gently running through his hair.

He had to sit up to kiss Harry, but he did so forcefully, so that Harry tried to lessen the pressure of their mouths by leaning back. George didn't want the intensity to diminish, and he got onto his knees before climbing onto Harry, pinning him against the couch cushions.

"George," Harry gasped, turning his head away from the kiss.

"Right now," George panted into Harry's ear. "Right here. C'mon, Harry."

No deliberation necessary.

"Yeah alright." Harry was breathless and they were both taking their shirts off, tossing them on the ground and going for their zippers and trousers. George sat up and Harry sat up next to him, lifting his hips and flinging his underwear onto the floor. There was a soft growl as George pulled Harry toward him, but neither of them knew who it came from. George's grip on Harry's arms forced the younger man to straddle his lap.

"Y'gonna fuck me, George?" Harry whispered as George began sucking on his throat. He ground his cock against the cloth of George's boxers as he said it, and his dick slid inside the opening, rubbing against George's erection.

The friction and use of his name at the same time made George tremble once, sharply, and the fingers that were on Harry's hips dug into the skin there tightly. One of his hands reached behind Harry and found his entrance.

"_Lubri_– Ah…" Harry began to whisper and broke off in a soft gasp.

George's fingers, probing delicately at the dry puckered skin suddenly felt the slick of lubricant and his middle finger slid into Harry up to the second knuckle. Harry was sitting straight up now, back perfectly stiff and long.

"Just do it," Harry breathed against George's mouth, their faces pressed against each other. When George moved his finger gently and stroked his other fingers down Harry's testicles, Harry breathed, "_George_. Quit fooling around. Just do it."

George moaned softly and Harry kissed him as the finger withdrew from his anus.

There was a soft pause in their movements as George reached between them to fish his cock from his boxers and lift it up to Harry's ass. Harry lowered his weight, impaling himself on George's erection.

There were no words George was capable of. He craned his neck toward Harry's chest and let the intense heat and pressure on his prick envelope him. It was so much easier to focus on the body on top of him than everything else. Harry began lifting his hips carefully and slowly.

"George," Harry mumbled feverishly, and the redhead shuddered with a grunt. Harry repeated his name as he rode the thick erection, and George's fingers gripped his ribs.

Harry said it again, and George panted raggedly, one of his hands moving between their bodies to touch the cock that was rubbing against his belly. His name was on Harry's lips again and George made an embarrassing pleading noise.

His name… on Harry's lips… It was surreal. It was upsetting. It was wonderful and terrifying and horrible and delicious and it made his lower body clench up excitedly and painfully.

"George," Harry's breathless voice was low, and it made George's stomach flip. "How's it? Y'so quiet."

"I…" George closed his eyes and moved his hips a little to add a little extra force to Harry's thrusts. "I can't… You… You're so…" He made a small desperate noise and tried to focus on tugging on Harry's erection.

"Rendered my George speechless, have I?" Harry whispered, and George shivered violently. He could hear the smile in Harry's voice. "George, George, George, George."

"I…" George's words were lost as Harry's hot breath hitched on his throat.

"Sorry," Harry murmured. "I'll stop saying it."

"Don't stop," George said in a broken voice. "Please."

Harry's fingers were gentle in his hair suddenly and there were kisses along his forehead before Harry pushed him back against the couch. He opened his eyes to see Harry brace his arms against the back of the couch and reposition his legs.

"Hold still," he said, as he began fucking himself on George's erection at a maddening pace. His arms were working with his legs to rise and lower, so that the whole couch shook with his movements.

They were silent for a long time as Harry moved, panting and occasionally moaning softly. Harry's muscles were taut and slicked with sweat, and George could barely look away from them, so totally immersed in his own lust.

"Say it again," George breathed after a few minutes, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. His hand was still around Harry's cock, but he'd stopped moving it as Harry was moving in a steady enough motion to fuck his fist.

"George," Harry gasped roughly. George could feel him trembling and shaking with the effort of maintaining a steady rhythm, could feel the sweat dripping down his back and hips. He opened his eyes to see Harry's concentrated expression and damp hair.

"Only me."

"Only ever you," Harry agreed breathlessly. His eyes were glazed over.

George's grip on Harry's cock tightened, and he mumbled, "You feel so right."

Harry grunted as he came, his chest twisting and thudding against George's. His body was still rising and lowering, but as his semen dripped down George's ribs, his rhythm became erratic.

George sat up a little and swiftly wrapped his arms around Harry's chest, lifting him and lowering him to keep the rhythm of the pressure on his cock steady.

"D'you love me?" George moved his face so that he was speaking almost directly into Harry's ear.

Harry nodded, moaning softly in assent.

"If I wanted to fuck you three more times tonight, would you let me?" George asked in a murmur against Harry's skin. Harry nodded vacantly, stroking his fingers down George's back; his hands were unsteady and shaky.

"Even if I did it so hard it hurt?" Harry nodded again, his fingers gripping George's shoulders.

"Even if I told you to get out afterwards and never come back?" Harry's head was still nodding, but he was saying nothing.

George's arms ached as he lifted Harry and thrust his hips upward into him, but the rest of him was aching so badly for release that he couldn't feel the pain. He buried his face into the crook of Harry's neck and gripped Harry so tightly that he wondered if the Boy Who Lived would be crushed.

"George…" Harry whispered.

And then the room was spinning and falling and his eyes were watering and he was gasping and growling, and holding onto Harry to try to stop the room from moving around him, and he was hot and sweating, and he couldn't remember his own name anymore, except that Harry was whispering it in his ear over and over, and he was choking on a word, on a sentence, and his dick felt so fucking good and he could feel the cum inside him leaving fast and hot.

"Christ," George gasped against Harry's chest, and blinked rapidly. He was panting for breath, and he weakly leaned back against the couch cushions, laying his head back on it to look up at the ceiling. His arms released Harry and he chuckled weakly. One of his shaky hands rose to run through his sweaty hair and he closed his eyes.

The smile from his laugh faded from his face and he raised an arm to lay over his eyes.

There was total silence in the room.

He did not want to look at Harry. He knew exactly what he was going to see on the other man's face, and he didn't want to deal with it. It made him feel sick to even imagine Harry's angry/upset/sad/broken-hearted/dead expression.

The pain and loss welled up in him, disappointingly soon. He swallowed thickly. The sex had been to forget; what was the fucking point if he could remember again only a minute or two after?

God, he didn't even know if he wanted Harry anymore, and he'd already fucked him. Harry: a tangible reminder that George would always be a twinless twin. That there would never again be someone else who looked exactly like him, but was not him.

Suddenly Harry was pressed against his chest, and holding him tightly.

George started, opening his eyes and trying to crane his neck to look down at Harry. There was silence for a moment, but it was broken as a soft sniffle came from the younger man.

"Oi, Harry?" George said weakly. "Alright, mate?"

Harry whispered so softly that George could barely hear him over the thudding of his own heart. "Don't leave me."

Ugh. A wave of terrified nausea washed over him. He didn't have an answer for Harry.

"I can't… I can't deal with everything. Not without you. Everyone's… they're… They won't leave me alone. And I can't… I…" Harry's voice broke. "All I want to do is hide."

George could feel Harry's tears running down his shoulder. He brought one hand to rest against Harry's back. Gently he leaned his cheek against the top of Harry's head. It was taking everything inside of him to not start crying again, and he closed his eyes.

"I'm so tired," he murmured into Harry's hair.

There was a loud crack and they were suddenly sitting on his bed. George was startled, wondering how they'd done it without a wand. As soon as he thought it though, he remembered once again that Harry no longer really needed a wand.

Harry seemed to be embarrassed, and he moved off of George's lap to crouch back at the edge of the mattress. George sat still for a moment before crawling under the sheets and reaching a hand out to tug at Harry's wrist.

Hesitantly, the younger man moved forward and lay down next to George. They looked at one another for a long moment, staring with tired eyes. Finally George broke their silence.

"You'll not go home while I sleep?" George asked, worry creasing his brow.

Harry shook his head.

"George… I…" Harry bit off his words and looked away.

"I'm so tired, Harry." George used the most pleading voice he could.

"Did it mean anything?" Harry asked softly. "On the couch? Was it nothing to you?"

There was a long drawn out silence. George felt bad for letting it hang so long; from the way Harry was chewing on his lower lip, it was evident the wait was making him incredibly anxious.

"It wasn't nothing. I just don't know what it meant."

Harry looked like he would cry again, but now he looked angry as well.

"Don't," George whispered, his throat and eyes aching. "You'll just get me wound up."

Nodding furiously and rolling away from him, Harry curled into a ball on the mattress. George drew the covers up over him and wiggled across the bed so that his chest pressed against Harry's back.

It was silent again, and it rather irked George that Harry had chosen today of all bloody days to talk about their unstable relationship. He put an arm around Harry's tense waist and stroked at the wiry hair on his chest.

"I love you," George said softly. And it was true.

He'd worried he would feel nothing for Harry, that perhaps he'd only loved him via Fred. But he could feel the same swell of emotions for him, the same aching of his heart when Harry was cross, the same disconnectedness when they were not touching.

Harry grunted, and George lifted his head in the darkness to try and peer at him. His hand moved up to brush against Harry's cheek; it was wet. He'd sort of hoped that his admission of love would smooth things over.

"What's that mean: you love me?" George could hear a roughness in his voice from crying.

"I dunno. That I like being around you? That I think you're fit? That you make it… _easier_ to deal with everything? That I don't want to share you with anyone? That… I want to shag your brains out on a regular basis?"

"What's it mean in the morning?" Harry sounded angry for a moment.

Harry had a point. George was running on a post-coital high; it wasn't entirely unreasonable to assume he was feeling the endorphins telling him to love everything and everyone. It stressed George out to think that things would be different when the sun rose, and he felt his stomach roil unhappily.

"It means… Fuck, Harry. I just buried my brother."

They were quiet again. Harry rolled over slowly so that they were facing and hugged George tightly around his waist, his cheek against George's chest.

"I don't want you to leave in the morning," George said softly, and closed his eyes.

Right, so. Everything hurt to think about (once again). But if George sorted through the horrid expanse of his mind, at the very top of the very worst of all his worries was the idea that Harry would leave him alone with his thoughts. Alone with a broken heart.

"Sorry I brought this all up," Harry said into his skin. He could feel Harry's eyelashes brushing against his chest as the brunette blinked.

"Yeah, well." George ran his fingers through Harry's dark hair and sighed. They were both quiet again.

"I love you," Harry said softly. "I don't want to lose you." He hesitated, like he was going to say more but didn't know how. There was more of a pause, and then Harry spoke again. "Did they… did they tell you I died?"

"Ronnie'd mentioned it." Under no circumstances would George tell Harry how his own heart nearly stopped beating in his chest when he'd heard it. He'd known that Harry had survived, had seen him and heard him and everything, but he'd had to wait until Ron had told them how Harry had lived before his breath would return to him.

More silence as Harry struggled to speak again. "I…" George could hear his throat close and warble as he tried to speak. He stroked the top of Harry's head tenderly.

"Y'know, when life tells you to sod off and you don't listen, you've got to wonder what's wrong with you," George told him matter-of-factly. "Which makes sense, seeing as there must be something horribly wrong with you to be in love with me."

"I'm a glutton for punishment," Harry said with a trembling laugh. George could feel his smile on his chest.

"And so the lion fell in love with–"

"What are you, gay?" Harry interrupted him incredulously, lifting his head.

George laughed, glad for the reaction, and could see Harry's smile turn into a broad grin in the dim light.

"Must be," George replied as he leaned in to kiss Harry.

THE FREAKIN' END


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